Tempus Fugit
by CelticPagan-3
Summary: Hermione and Draco have been partners in Magical Law for three years. When their current case takes them down into the Department of Mysteries to follow a new lead, an unfortunate accident results in a series of trials they never dreamed they would have to endure. (Longer summary inside. slightly A/U. EWE. Rated T for now, may go to M later on)
1. Chapter 1

**Tempus Fugit**

 _Hermione and Draco have been partners in Magical Law for three years, working with civil professionalism that has now become a surprising friendship. When their current case takes them down into the Department of Mysteries to follow a new lead, an unfortunate accident results in a series of trials they never dreamed they would have to endure. As a surprising adventure unfolds, their professional civility, and budding friendship, is tested to remarkable extremes as they try to find their way home._

 _Slightly A/U, EWE, set approximately seven or eight years after the Battle of Hogwarts_

 **A/N: _Hi guys, welcome to my new fic. I've had this story brewing for over a year and I've been writing little pieces of it here and there while working on my others. Quick DISCLAIMER (that covers the whole story): Obviously, I don't own this world or the main characters. This is story is based on the works of J.K. Rowling ...You know how it goes :)_**

 ** _Enjoy_**

 ** _xBx_**

* * *

 **~ Chapter I ~**

"Harry!" Hermione Granger called out from the third floor landing of Grimmauld Place. "Where are you?"

She had checked the kitchen, the first floor sitting room and drawing room, as well as his bedroom, but Harry Potter was simply nowhere to be found. Hermione was greatly confused, not to mention irritated: After his most recent mission with the Auror department Harry had returned severely injured and, while medi-wizards had patched him up well and good, he had been given a week's mandatory leave to recuperate. This being said, Harry wasn't one to just sit around and do nothing, and so he had been assigned – in an advisory capacity only – to the case Hermione and her partner were currently working on.

Hermione had been working in Magical Law for five years, and had been partnered with Draco Malfoy for three. It had started out as a rather strenuous partnership, but the pair had soon discovered that they could work well as a team when they put their old differences behind them – and now they were one of the top investigative teams in their division. Of course, the pair still had their moments, and while they certainly no longer hated each other - one could even go so far as to call them friends - they could still argue like the worst of enemies.

"Hermione?" Harry's voice drifted up from the floor below, and Hermione leaned over the railing to see his face peering out of the library.

"There you are!" Hermione exclaimed, before moving down to join him. "I've been looking for you everywhere."

"Everything all right?" Harry asked, limping ahead of Hermione into the room and re-taking his seat by the fire, elevating his leg onto a footstool. "New lead?"

"Something like that," Hermione said, producing a roll of parchment from the inside pocket of her jacket. "We need information from the Department of Mysteries, and of course an unspeakable isn't going to give up anything without a warrant. So we need our Auror's signature."

Harry took the parchment with a snort of derision.

"Good luck getting information, even _with_ a warrant," he joked, but signed the parchment regardless.

Hermione sighed, "I know, it's a long shot. But it needs to be done," she said, taking back the parchment and returning it to her jacket. "Thanks. How are you enjoying house-rest?"

"It's not too bad – a little tedious, but I have found a good book," Harry said, producing a thick volume from the table beside him, and holding it out for Hermione to see.

" _Piracy: The Golden Age,_ " Hermione read the title out loud, and was a little surprised by the topic of the material. "Really?"

"It's fascinating," Harry countered with a shrug. "This book documents everything from the 1650's to the 1730's, it will certainly help pass the time. I've only just started, but so far it's rather gripping. Did you know, that when a pirate broke the ships code, they could be marooned on an island with a pistol, a couple of shots, powder and a bottle of water, sometimes rum? They never walked the plank either - that's a popular myth - it was easier to just throw them overboard."

"No, I did not know that," Hermione grinned. "Well, I certainly won't discourage reading, and I look forward to more buccaneer facts this evening."

"Don't you have a dinner with the girls, at the Burrow, tonight?" Harry reminded her.

"Yes, I do. I'll be going straight from work, but I'll drop in later - catch you up with our progress. Speaking of: I should get back to the Ministry with this, before Malfoy sends out a search party – you know how impatient he can get."

Harry laughed, "You must truly be a saint to put up with the guy – I don't know how you do it."

"He's not too bad, once you get used to him," Hermione shrugged. "He's saved my skin just as many times as I've saved his. And he's changed - he's not the same boy we knew at school, you know that. I guess you could say we're friends now."

"Friends?" Harry looked at her shrewdly.

"Yeah, it's kind of hard not to be after working so long together. Even _you_ enjoyed yourself when you've joined us for a drink after work, on a few occasions."

"All right," Harry conceded. "But you are just friends right?"

"Seriously?" Hermione frowned. "Are you actually asking if I'm sleeping with Malfoy? We're partners, that's all."

Harry held up his hands in a gesture of surrender, "I'm sorry, but I had to ask. There's a tension between you two - and, you know, all the great couples started as partners. Mulder and Scully; Rabb and MacKenzie. Or how about Booth and Brennan, or even MerDer."

Hermione looked at him, momentarily speechless, before giving her head a quick shake and laughing.

"Okay, where to start?" Hermione said. "Firstly, I don't know how you got a TV to work in here, with all the magic, but it was a bad idea. Secondly, did you seriously just say MerDer?" Hermione couldn't resist a smirk as Harry jumped in defensively.

"Don't judge me, you're here often enough watching with me. And MerDer are a cracking couple-"

"I am not disputing that, but the fact you know the slang means you need to get back to work quickly - and technically they weren't actually partners, just collegues," Hermione teased. "As were Rabb and MacKenzie, come to think on it. And finally, they're fictional - Malfoy and I do not relate. And now I really have to go, because this conversation is getting far too weird; I'll see you later."

Harry made a half-hearted grunt of dismissal, and waved Hermione off, as he went back to his book.

Five minutes later, Hermione wound her way through the Ministry Atrium, briskly making her way from the fireplaces down to the lifts. When the golden grilles clanked open to expel her onto level nine she was met by Draco Malfoy who was leaning nonchalantly against the wall, twirling his wand.

"About time, Curly." Draco drawled, though with none of his former hostility. "What did you do? Walk to Potter's, and back?"

Hermione growled and narrowed her eyes; she hated that nick-name. "For the love of Merlin, Malfoy, stop calling me that! And I wasn't that long; I'm here now, let's get this over with," she said, leading him down the corridor.

"How do we get in?" Draco asked, when they came to the door. It was closed tight, and with no handle there was no visible sign of how to open it.

Hermione worried her lip: she hadn't been down to the Department of Mysteries once, since she had started working at the Ministry.

"That is a good question," Hermione said. "I've only been here once before, and that time the door…just…opened," she finished lamely, thinking back to the days of Dumbledore's Army.

"My, we're full of wisdom today, aren't we Granger?" Draco drawled.

"We just walked purposefully toward it-" she remembered, speaking with conviction and ignoring Draco's jibe, "-or rather ran. And it opened, as if it sensed, and accepted, our belief that we were meant to be in there."

"All right. Let's give it a go," Draco said after a second of reflecting, taking several steps back. If he'd learnt one thing since working with Hermione Granger, it was that she was almost always right. Almost.

Before Hermione could stop him, Draco strode purposefully toward the door, but unlike many years ago the door didn't budge, and Draco smacked into it with a loud crack. Hermione bit back her laughter, but couldn't fully contain the snort as Draco turned and glared at her.

"Anymore bright ideas?" he scowled, as if she had purposefully told him to do that. "And you can stop laughing right now."

Hermione held up her hands in defence, "I'm not laughing," she told him, but the humour was clear in her voice. Draco was spared from replying as the door they were trying to get through opened from the inside, to reveal an unspeakable on the other side.

"Mister Malfoy, Miss Granger. I've been expecting you." The unspeakable stepped aside and Hermione and Draco stepped over the threshold and into the same black circular room that Hermione had visited before. "The Minister sent a memo saying you wished to converse."

"Yes," Hermione said, producing the signed warrant from her jacket, "I understand that the information you can give is limited, but we believe the department can help us with this case."

"You are not wrong," the unspeakable agreed, with an air of maddening superiority. "I have reviewed the case of which you speak- " Draco rolled his eyes and gave a quiet scoff, and Hermione knew what he was thinking: No one was allowed to know what the Unspeakables did all day, but they had no problem nosing into every other departments' business as and when they liked. This double standard did not sit well with him.

"- If any of us can help, I believe Payne is the one to turn to: he is currently working on something in the Time Room – I believe you are familiar with that room?" He added, looking rather darkly at Hermione.

Hermione shuffled uncomfortably and mumbled something incoherent as the unspeakable closed the exit door and the room began to spin, taking Draco slightly by surprise and causing him to stumble with the dizzying disorientation. When the walls came to a stop the unspeakable declared " _Tempus Cubiculum_ " in a commanding voice, and a door behind them sprang open, revealing the same room Hermione and her friends had visited in their impromptu extra-curricular visit they had embarked upon in their fifth year.

"Payne is inside," the unspeakable gestured toward the open door, indicating that Hermione and Draco should proceed without him. "I have my own work to conduct, I trust you can find your own way out?" He addressed Hermione directly once again, giving her another cold look. "Our security measures upon entering have been upgraded, as you can imagine. But the exit procedure hasn't changed."

Hermione grimaced and nodded curtly, before moving off into the time-room with Draco at her heels.

"Something tells me he doesn't like you," Draco commented quietly as the door closed behind them, smirking good naturedly at her.

"Probably has something to do with the mess I left behind on my last visit," Hermione said wryly.

"It most definitely does," a voice joined in, from a desk at the end of the room. "I'm Fredrick Payne," he announced, rising from his seat, and moving around his workstation. "I've been reading over the case file, what is it you want to ask me?"

"How did you get the case file?" Draco asked suspiciously.

"That is irrelevant, and not what you are wanting to ask – erm, Miss Granger?" Payne called out to Hermione, who was studying the shelving unit on the back wall, behind the desk. "Given your past, I must ask you to please step away from the new Time-Turner collection."

Hermione scowled and mumbled something about "no proof it was me", as she took a step away, while Draco chuckled.

"If you've read the file, you know we are tracking a serial killer," Draco stated, while Hermione chewed her tongue, still bristling from the thinly veiled insult. "You should also know, that each victim appears to have been a seer – we believe they made a prophecy shortly before their demise."

"Yes, I know these things," the unspeakable confirmed, but said no more – much to the annoyance of the other two.

"It might be helpful if we could hear the prophecies," Draco said, and edge to his voice that told Hermione he was slowly losing his limited patience.

"It might be," the unspeakable agreed. "But the only people who can retrieve a prophecy are those who make it, and the ones whom it is about. I cannot help you there."

"Can you at least confirm that the victims made the prophecies?" Hermione asked with a pained sigh - getting information from an unspeakable was like trying to draw blood from a stone. A very dry stone.

"I could, but it would take time," Payne said. "You've seen the Hall of Prophecy, Miss Granger, you know the size of the room."

"Yes," Hermione nodded, slowly losing her own patience at the painfully long experience this was turning out to be. "But it's considerably smaller than it used to be. However, if you're too busy, we could happily peruse the shelves ourselves."

Hermione moved toward the door that was situated next to the Time-Turner shelves, "if my memory serves me, the Hall of Prophecy can be accessed right through here, am I right?" she asked innocently, placing a hand on the door. Draco smirked appreciatively at her audacity - over the past three years, the pair had started to rub off on each other with some amusing effects.

"That will not be allowed," Payne huffed. "You are not an unspeakable – it is too much already that you are allowed in here while we work. I can offer you my assistance to a degree, but no more can I allow – sir, please," Payne turned to Draco, becoming more flustered by the minute.

Draco had moved over to the desk, where Hermione had been a moment before, and was now poking through the contents of Payne's work. "I must ask you to leave that well alone. If you will kindly vacate the department, I will send a memo to your office with the information I deem relevant to divulge."

Hermione knew they would get nothing more now and so she moved toward Draco and the desk, "come on, we're not going to get anything right now, we may as well just leave."

"Fine," Draco grumbled, not happy about the wasted time. "But I'm taking _this_ -" he picked up the case file with a flourish, "-back with us."

As a result of Draco's hasty removal of the files from the desk, a rapid succession of events unfolded, which appeared to run in slow motion in front of Hermione's eyes:

Whatever Payne had been working on, prior to their arrival, was contained in a dish that - when Draco roughly pulled the file - was dislodged and went spinning to the floor. Payne gave a strangled yell of dismay at the same time that Hermione shrieked and jumped to the side to avoid the contents of the dish that she wrongly assumed would spill out, smashing into the shelving unit as she did so.

"Watch it, Granger!" Draco called out, automatically reaching out to grab her arm and pull her safely away from the tumbling shelves.

"No, no, no, no," Hermione moaned as Time-Turners began to shatter around her. "Not again!"

The last thing Hermione saw was a Time-Turner falling gracefully toward the floor, the hour-glass inside it spinning madly, before it landed in the dish, causing a deafening explosion. Hermione felt herself being pulled toward the blast, rather than pushed away from it - registering dimly in the back of her mind the unusualness of such a consequence - and was acutely aware of Draco's hand still clutching her arm, before everything went black.

###

When Hermione awoke, her entire body ached and her ears were ringing. Opening her eyes, she blinked rapidly to rid the darkness, only to find that the darkness wouldn't leave. Pulling herself up with a groan, she fluttered her hands along the ground around her, searching for her wand. When she found it she lit it, and alleviated the sudden fear that the explosion had rendered her blind as her surroundings were brought to light.

Another groan somewhere from her right, told her that Malfoy was here with her too – though where 'here' was, she wasn't entirely sure.

"Granger?" Malfoy croaked out, "What the hell did you do?"

"What did _I_ do?" Hermione repeated, clearly offended. "What did _you_ do? You knocked that thing off the desk-"

"Yes, but you destroyed the Time-Turners," he countered. "Where are we?" He asked, lighting his own wand and moving to stand.

Hermione held her wand higher, and stood up with him, surveying their surroundings. It would appear they were in some sort of cave or chasm; they were surrounded by solid rock and dirt, with no visible way out. Hermione moved her scope of vision to the floor, and soon discovered the broken remains of a Time-Turner.

A worrying thought struck her, as she bent down to examine the ruins. "I think the more pressing question is: _when_ are we?" she said quietly.

"What do you mean?" Draco asked warily, coming to crouch next to her. "What's that?"

"A Time-Turner – or what's left of one." Hermione said, sitting back down on the floor and conjuring a glass vial to try and syphon as much of the sands from the Time-Turner's hour glass into it as possible.

"So, you think we've gone back in time?" Draco voiced, and Hermione nodded. "But that doesn't explain why we're in the middle of a cave – I didn't think Time-Turners could transport between locations?"

"In my previous experience, they don't – not really," Hermione admitted, stoppering the vial when a majority of the sands had been collected. "When I had one in third year, every time I went back an hour I would come out near enough the same place: Maybe a classroom or two away from my original spot, or the next corridor over. Sometimes a few floors up or down – either way it was still inside Hogwarts. Location isn't affected; I can only assume the anomalies were to tie into the Statute of Secrecy – wherever I came out was entirely deserted," she rambled. Her mind was already three steps ahead of her mouth and she was dreading having to voice her hypothesis out loud: once it was spoken, they would have to seriously consider the possibility.

"You had a Time-Turner in third year?" Draco asked incredulously.

Hermione glared up at him, "big picture, please."

"Right," Draco gave his head a quick shake. "So according to your theory, we should be in the vicinity of the Department of Mysteries – somewhere in the Ministry?"

Hermione nodded, but didn't speak - she couldn't.

"We're obviously still underground," Draco continued slowly, the gears of his mind hard at work and soon coming to the same conclusion Hermione had already reached. "But where's the Ministry? If a Time-Turner only moves us through time..."

Hermione closed her eyes, knowing what was coming next. "Granger," Draco said slowly. "When was the Ministry built?"

Hermione swallowed and shook her head, silently begging him not to make her answer. But of course, Draco ignored her, "Granger!"

Hermione sighed and opened her eyes, "The Ministry of Magic succeeded the Wizard's Council in, or around, 1629," she said quietly, relaying the information she had read a few years back. "But the current site of the Ministry wasn't the original: the Original Ministry was lost in the Great Fire of London, in 1666 and the current Ministry was built in the years following."

Draco was silent for a while, digesting this information, "So what you're essentially saying is -"

Hermione shook her head, "Don't say it! Please, don't!"

"Why?" Draco frowned, "we both know it -"

"If we've gone back a few hours, we can just wait it out!" Hermione explained, struggling to ignore the panic bubbling. "A few days, we can wait out – hell, a year, we can easily wait out! A couple of decades, wouldn't be great, but we'd fix it somehow – we'd be able to find another Time-Turner, or get this one fixed, to take us forward. But if you say what you are about to say – if it's true, then…" Hermione trailed off.

"We're screwed." Draco finished quietly, and the panic Hermione was trying to hold back finally exploded. She dropped her wand and ran her hands through her hair, her breathing becoming faster and deeper as she started to hyperventilate.

"All right, Granger, suck it up," Draco said, though his concern was clear. He knelt down in front of Hermione and made her look at him.

"Breathe, Granger," he commanded her, putting his hands on either side of her face. "Breathe. You're no good to me in this state – we don't even know if your theory is correct – there is no use panicking about it until we're certain. For all we know, that explosion could have blasted us to another location – maybe we have just gone back a year. And if not, we'll figure it out. But first, you need to breathe, so we can at least get out of this cave. Damn it, Granger, I will slap you if I have to."

Hermione's breathing steadied again as she focused on Draco's breathing with the intention of mimicking his rhythm, and got a grip on herself. "Sorry," she said, feeling foolish for losing it so quickly.

Draco shrugged, before getting to his feet and helping Hermione to hers, "Don't worry about it. Something tells me it won't be the only meltdown to occur before all this is over – I'm sure we'll both be enjoying those delights," he said dryly.

Hermione picked up her wand and let out a long breath, "okay, what do we do?"

"First, we need to get out of here- " Draco started,

"But there's no exit," Hermione interrupted, "this chasm is tiny, and sealed off completely."

"But there's no magic stopping us from apparating: if we've gone so far back that the Ministry doesn't exist, or if we've been blasted out of the site, it doesn't matter – either way, there's no magic."

Hermione nodded, realising the logic of this statement: "You're right, apparition should be a safe option. But where are we going to apparate to? If, Merlin save us, we have gone back a few centuries, we can hardly apparate out into the middle of London dressed like this."

"Malfoy Manor," Draco said after a moment. "The house has been there for centuries: we need to find out when we are, while keeping a low profile. And if we're going to find help anywhere, it will be there."

Hermione thought for a moment, trying to think of an alternative, any possible alternative – Hogwarts was potentially an option, but like Draco had said, a low profile was probably a necessity, and turning up at Hogwarts would have the opposite effect. Finally she nodded. "All right," she agreed, bending down to scoop up the broken remains of the Time-Turner, and shoving them into her jacket pocket, along with the vial.

Draco held out his hand and Hermione obligingly took it. Draco pulled her closer, making sure he had a firm grip on her hand, before taking a deep breath and disapparating them out of their prison.

* * *

 _ **A/N: Thanks for reading, I hope you're intrigued :) I'll have the next chapter up in a fortnight.**_

 _ **Please leave a review, let me know what you thought - and if you can name the TV shows which the 4 couples I mentioned are from, you'll get a mention in the next post and bragging rights :)**_

 _ **xBx**_


	2. Chapter 2

_**A/N: Hi guys, welcome to chapter 2! Thanks for all my reads, and for my reviews, I really appreciate the support. Shout out to Mystery of the Night, who got the Brennan &Booth from Bones, and a Shout out to Jen410 who got all four couples: Mulder & Scully - the X-Files; Meredith & Derick - Greys Anatomy; Rabb & MacKensie - Jag; and Brennan & Booth - Bones.**_

 ** _No hidden gems to find in this one, hope you enjoy!_**

* * *

 **Chapter II**

Hermione and Draco appeared with a crack outside the gates of Malfoy Manor, and immediately Hermione's mood further deteriorated. It was dark, cold, and raining; within thirty seconds they were both soaked through to their skin.

"Well, however far back we've travelled, we can at least be certain we're no longer in summer," Draco commented.

"I'm not appreciating your attempt at humour – can we maybe move towards the doors and find some cover?" Hermione suggested.

It was then that Draco noticed that the large iron gates were swung wide open.

"The gates are open," he declared, unnecessarily.

"I can see that," Hermione said impatiently, starting to walk through them and down the driveway.

"No, you don't understand," Draco explained, successfully keeping in step with her but failing to keep the panic out of his voice. "The gates are never open: they have been magically sealed shut, since the introduction of the Statute of Secrecy, so that only certain witches and wizards can enter."

Hermione's heart plummeted – the Statute of Secrecy was imposed in 1692.

"So what you're basically telling me is that this circumstance is a huge tick in the box against our pre-1666 theory."

"Yes," Draco admitted. "Once again, it seems we're screwed."

"More so than we originally thought," Hermione said slowly, as they approached the house. Candlelight flickered from an extraordinary amount of windows, and the closer they came to the manor, the more unmistakable were the sounds of revelry coming from within. "It appears we're about to crash a party."

"So much for a low profile," Draco muttered as they ascended the stairs, "the fewer people we see the better."

"I was thinking more along the lines of our attire might not be suitable to whatever era we've found ourselves in." Hermione snapped, as Draco pulled the bell on the door.

Draco's eyes widened as he turned to survey Hermione's outfit. She was wearing her standard outfit for sitting in the office, consisting of a black, high-waisted, pencil skirt with a figure hugging, pastel blue blouse. As their work would often take them out into Muggle populated areas, Draco had become accustomed to Muggle attire and so was wearing a standard, tailor-made suit, consisting of dark grey pants, and a crisp white shirt. When they had dressed for work that morning, they were in the middle of summer, and the weather too warm for a tie and jacket. Thankfully, they were both wearing their long, black, work-cloaks, which they both instinctively pulled tighter around themselves to hide their modern clothing underneath.

"Shit. I never even thought of that." Draco muttered, just as the door opened to reveal a confirmation of all their fears, so startling that both would have laughed if their situation hadn't seemed quite so dire.

The man that faced them stood tall and proud, wearing a blank expression of formal courtesy. His hair was long, and tightly curled and fell down past his shoulders in such perfection Hermione suspected it was a wig. His attire was elegant, but not overly so – fine, to be sure, but simple, indicating his status as a servant to the extremely wealthy. He wore full breeches gathered at the knees, with a lightly-ruffled long sleeved shirt and cravat underneath a long coat, finished with a pair of square-toed shoes.

"How may I help you?" The man asked, addressing Draco.

Draco's eyes widened in clear shock for a moment as he surveyed the sight in front of him, before clearing his throat. "My apologies for the intrusion, but I wish to see the Head of the House, urgently." Draco said.

"And who might you be, sir?" The Butler asked.

"My name is Malfoy, Draco Malfoy. I'm a…" Draco thought wildly for some reasonable form of relationship – 'a relative from the future' just wasn't going to cut it.

"- Distant cousin. We're not expected, but we would welcome some shelter."

The butler gave Draco a quick once-over, his eyebrows quirked slightly at his strange apparel, but stood to the side eventually to allow them into the house. "If you would wait here a moment, I will alert Lady Alara of your presence."

The butler closed the door behind them, before turning and leaving Hermione and Draco standing in the large entryway. The pair were silent for a moment, both digesting the scene they had just witnessed.

"What in the name of Merlin was he wearing?" Draco said after a moment.

"Do the Malfoys ever throw ridiculously authentic costume parties?" Hermione asked.

"No," Draco stated, in a tone that suggested Hermione was certifiably crazy for even humouring such a notion. "And house-elves answer doors in Malfoy Manor, not humans."

"In that case, we've narrowed down our potential time-period: that was a legitimate, seventeenth century butler." Hermione looked up at Draco, with clearly displayed panic in her eyes; "we're in the 1600's, Malfoy. We're in a house full of your seventeenth century ancestors!" she hissed.

"Granger, calm down," Draco bit back at her, beginning to get just as wound up as she was. "You're starting to freak out again and we do not have time for another meltdown. And if you freak out, I'm going to freak out-"

"How are you not panicking?" Hermione demanded, her whisper becoming shrill. "We are royally screwed-"

"Not necessarily," Draco argued. "Let's not be melodramatic. For starters, if anyone is going to be open minded about our situation, it's Lady Alara. A lot of names in the Malfoy family are re-used. But there was only one Alara – her name was never used again, as she became quite the black sheep of the family, to the point of almost being disowned."

"What do you mean?" Hermione asked. "And how is that going to help us?"

"She was known for her lavish parties, and her interest in experimental magic, she was also the most Muggle friendly of all my ancestors. It was rumoured she was a King's mistress – though which King, I can't remember, I'm not great at remembering the history of the Royals. And it's also believed that she associated with pirates – she travelled a lot, I think she may even have had a brother who was a pirate - or was it a cousin?" Draco pondered for a moment before shaking his head and bringing his thoughts back to the present.

"Not that it really matters right now - of course his name is never mentioned, so I don't remember it off the top of my head, though it's similar to hers, I think. Anyway, she was open-minded about a lot of things, apparently, so if any Malfoy is going to listen to us - believe us and help us - it will be her."

"How can you possibly know that?" Hermione asked, scepticism dripping from her words.

Draco shrugged, "I've spoken to her a couple of times - her portrait hangs in the Manor...or it will do." Draco frowned, confusing himself with the semantics of their current situation. "I know she'll help us," he was about to say something further but stopped when he heard the clicking of two pairs of shoes coming back down the hallway towards them.

The Butler came around a corner, followed by a beautiful young woman with the signature Malfoy platinum-blonde hair that was curled and tied in a large bun at the back of her head, with tight curls framing her face and falling to rest on her exposed shoulders. She wore an elegant gown of pale blue muslin; the bodice was tightly corseted with a low broad neckline and dropped shoulders, and the sleeves were full and loose, ending just below the elbow.

"These are the two who requested you, My Lady." The Butler announced.

She surveyed Draco and Hermione thoughtfully, before flashing them a genuine smile.

"Well, you sir, do have the Malfoy look about you, that is for certain." She said at Draco, before turning her eyes to Hermione, "You do not. You do, however, look cold which is not surprising given your apparent lack of clothing. Come, join me in the library and warm yourselves by the fire. Jarvis, see that some wine is sent up," She said to the butler, who bowed and disappeared.

"Now," the woman demanded in a tone of authority, as she led them down the hallway. "Do tell me who you are, and how you come to be here."

Hermione looked warily at Draco, who simply shrugged and followed trustingly. "It would be better if we explained in the Library, to avoid being overheard."

Lady Alara looked back at them and flashed them a wicked grin, "It sounds as though there is a hint of scandal in your tale, how delightful."

When they were shown into the Library, Hermione immediately made for the fire where she let her robe fall open to allow the heat to permeate onto her body.

""What are you wearing?" Lady Alara cried in wonderment, noticing Hermione's outfit. "Where are the rest of your clothes?"

Hermione gave a grimace, "These are my clothes," she explained, "This is what one wears where we come from."

"And where is that?" Alara asked.

"The future," Draco said bluntly – there really was no way to sugar-coat the truth, but he could practically hear Hermione's eye-roll at his lack of tact.

Lady Alara looked at him in astonishment for a few seconds, before throwing her head back and laughing long and hard, clearly amused, while Hermione and Draco stood silent and serious. "The truth now, if you please," she said, after her laughter died away.

"It's true," Hermione said. "What year are we in?"

"You jest?" Alara said, though her mirth was fading at the seriousness coming from both Draco and Hermione.

"No jest," Hermione shook her head. "What year is it?"

"1663," Alara said slowly, taking a seat and looking warily between her two companions. "What you say is impossible: no one can travel through time."

"That's not what we wanted to hear," Draco mumbled.

"Unless," Alara said slowly, ignoring Draco's comment, "mayhaps Harrie wasn't so crazy after all."

"Harry? Harry who?" Hermione asked immediately.

Alara looked suspiciously at the two of them once again, "How can I be certain you are telling the truth?" She asked.

"Question us under Veriteserum if you like," Draco suggested, just as the door opened, and a maid entered carrying the wine which Alara had requested. When the door was closed Alara called out for a house-elf who promptly appeared.

"Mistress called?" The elf squeaked.

"Fetch me the bottle of Veriteserum, if you please," Alara commanded. The elf bowed and disappeared, returning almost instantly with a glass vial in hand. Alara took the bottle and the elf disappeared once more.

"I only need to question one of you, whom will it be?" She asked, pouring them all a goblet of wine, and adding three drops of potion to one of them.

Draco looked expectantly at Hermione who rolled her eyes, "be a gentleman, for once, Malfoy." She smirked, "we're in the seventeenth century now: blend with society."

"Fine." Draco huffed, taking the goblet with the potion with somewhat poor grace, "cheers."

"As you can see -" Hermione said to Alara, who was watching their exchange curiously, "-chivalry is almost a lost art form in the future."

After Draco had drained the goblet, Alara asked him two simple questions: "Where did you come from? And how did you get here?"

Draco gave a detailed account of the accident which occurred in the Department of Mysteries, and how it resulted in them being blasted into the past, where they found themselves in a cave, and explained how they came to Malfoy Manor looking for help.

Hermione could see, by the looks of confusion and interest that flittered across Alara's features throughout Draco's answers, that she had many questions, and did not fully understand all he said. But thankfully, the veritiserum had done its job, and Alara no longer distrusted their intentions.

"You really are from the future?" Alara breathed.

"Yes," Draco said, the veritiserum beginning to wear off, allowing him to add to his sentences, though still making him answer every question. "And we very much would like to get back there."

"Before you ordered the veritiserum, you mentioned someone named Harry," Hermione reminded Alara. "Who is that?"

Alara looked at them regretfully, "You must forgive me, I want to help you – and I will – but what I can tell you will take some time. I might be able to assist you – or at least, I can point you in the direction of someone who may be able to help, but it will have to wait until the morrow. Dinner is to be served in an hour; we had just retired to dress mere moments before your arrival. I have yet to change, but change I must - I cannot neglect my guests, particularly as His Majesty is the guest of honour." Alara explained.

Hermione looked at Alara for a moment, her face expressionless, digesting this piece of information. After a moment, she finally found her voice.

"You're entertaining King Charles the Second." Hermione clarified, and Draco was impressed that she could reel off the correct monarch off the top of her head.

Alara gave a wicked grin, such that only a Malfoy could accomplish, "He is fond of a good revel, and I happen to provide the best of entertainment." A sudden gleam caught in her eyes, that made Hermione and Draco wary. "You should join us."

Hermione was about to protest, and she shot Draco an almost panicked look – even Draco looked uncertain at the suggestion – but Alara stopped her before she could begin.

"You are stuck here, you have nowhere else to go, and we cannot accomplish sending you back tonight. You may as well enjoy yourself while you are here. It will be common knowledge that someone has arrived - to hide you would stir up unwanted questions. Come with me: I will take you to rooms in the guest wing – we'll find you some suitable clothes."

Alara stood and made toward the door. Draco and Hermione exchanged another wary look, "What's the worst that could happen?" Draco suggested, and Hermione gave him a withering look.

"Don't say that. Whenever anyone says that, the worst will inevitably happen, and it's often worse than we could have imagined," Hermione sighed, before shrugging and following Alara.

They made their way through a corridor, up a rather grand staircase and along more corridors; all the while Alara talked, becoming increasingly excited.

"Now, it might be beneficial for you to use different names while you are here – I don't know how well documented this time will be in general, but I know my family like to document everything. Should you do something memorable, that would turn into a story to be passed down through generations, it might be wise to disassociate your future selves from the past."

Alara looked thoughtfully at Draco, "You are quite clearly a Malfoy; there will be no point attempting to deny it, our resemblance is too much – and doing so may cause much unwanted attention. Better to hide in plain sight, I always say. But your first name we can change. Alaric," she declared after a moment's thought.

Hermione looked at Draco thoughtfully, "I can see that – you can pass as an Alaric."

Draco pondered the name, struggling to pull at a memory tugging at the corner of his mind. "Alaric…It seems familiar," he started slowly. "Wait: don't you have a brother named Alaric? Or perhaps a cousin? Yes! Alara and Alaric! But he was cast out of the family,"

Alara shook her head in confusion, "You are mistaken, I have no brother. And there is no one in our family with that name."

Draco frowned, "I'm sure there was an Alaric – nothing is really known of him, just that he left England, around this time I think. He was never seen again, nor spoken of again – I think he became a pirate, that's why he was cast out." He rambled, oblivious to Hermione's unimpressed expression.

"You have got to be kidding me!" Hermione exploded, as they came to the bedroom they were to be housed in, successfully drawing Draco's attention.

"What?" Draco asked, as Alara showed them into the cavernous chamber.

"Alara has no brother. She has suggested you take the name Alarac. I'm going to assume you will be taking it." Hermione pointed out the obvious, before exploding, "A pirate?!"

Draco's eyes widened as he realised what Hermione was saying, "I'm not a pirate." Draco insisted sounding slightly appalled.

"No, not right now, but apparently you will be." Hermione huffed.

"Or perhaps," Alara interrupted, "Alaric's disappearance is nothing more than your return to your proper time. If people mistake you for my brother, your sudden disappearance will incite comment. The story of piracy would be a perfect cover as to why you were no longer seen or spoken of by the family."

Draco breathed an audible sigh of relief. "See," he said to Hermione, "not a pirate. So, if I'm to be Alaric, who are you to be?"

Hermione thought, but it was Alara who answered, "Anamaria." Hermione had no objections, and nodded her agreement.

"I'll just keep calling you 'curly'," Draco said. "Easier to remember."

Hermione glared at Draco, "I will kill you. I mean it, I will. I have told you a thousand times: I hate that nick-name."

"Now, Alaric," Alara said, ignoring the bickering and moving through into an adjoining room, returning a moment later with a handful of clothing, "change into these. Anamaria, come with me into the dressing room, and we'll see about finding you the perfect gown," she said to Hermione, eyeing her critically. "I think red will sit well on you – I believe there is a fine ruby ensemble in the wardrobe here that will do very well."

* * *

 ** _A/N: A little bit of a short chapter, just to set the seen and get the story moving. The chapters will probably get a little longer as we go on. I'll have the next chapter up beginning of April :) Thanks for reading, please review :)_**

 ** _xBx_**


	3. Chapter 3

_**A/N: Hey guys! It's been a while since I updated, sorry about the delay. I took a bit of a Hiatus for many reasons, but I feel back to normal and ready to write again, so hopefully I'll get a few chapters out at a relatively decent pace :)**_

 _ **Thanks to everyone who has read so far, and thank you for my reviews. I hope you continue to read and stick with me to the end of the adventure :)**_

 _ **xBx**_

* * *

 **Chapter 3**

Hermione followed Alara cautiously into the next room, which turned out to be an extensive dressing room. The Wardrobe that Alara spoke of was one of a pair, both of which were large and ornate. There was a large fireplace, at which Alara pointed her wand and immediately filled it with a roaring blaze. There was also a bed barely big enough for one, as well as a large folding screen, and a large chest of drawers. There was also a good sized vanity table, complete with a china bowl and ewer, exactly the same - though a little smaller - as the one back in the bedroom. Alara stepped up to one of the wardrobes and pulled out a dress, much the same style as the one Alara was wearing herself but instead of muslin, the ruby creation was a rich ensemble of silk, satin and lace.

Alara held the dress up to Hermione, "hmm, we may have to adjust the fit a little, nothing a little wand work won't fix. But the colour will certainly suit." She handed the dress to Hermione and then proceeded to rummage through the large drawers, pulling out a handful of garments.

"Put these on," Alara commanded, handing over the clothes - which Hermione quickly realised were undergarments typical of the century. "I'll help you with the corset, and then we'll fit the dress."

Hermione went behind the screen and did as she was bid. As Alara laced Hermione's corset, she pointed Hermione's attention to a handy concealment that was stitched on the inside of the corset. It was the perfect place to slip a wand where no one would see it, nor would it be damaged. When the corset was fastened as tight as was comfortable (which was apparently rather loose according to Alara's standards) Alara helped Hermione into the dress, adjusting and fastening with a wave her wand so it became a perfect fit. When they were done, Alara picked up Hermione's discarded modern clothing with one hand and took Hermione's hand in the other and dragged her back into the other room where Draco was just buttoning up the long coat of his ensemble.

"Oh my," Hermione grinned. "Don't you look dashing?"

"Quit the sarcasm, Curly," Draco snapped. "It's not appreciated."

"Now, now, children, I think you both look wonderful," Alara interrupted, stopping an argument before it could begin. "Alaric, give me your old clothes, we need to burn them - we don't want them found, or the questions will be endless and unanswerable."

Draco didn't react right away, almost forgetting his new alias, but when he finally caught up he tossed his suit over to Alara who caught it deftly and headed to the fireplace.

"Wait!"

Alara halted at Hermione's outburst and looked at her confused. Hermione didn't answer but moved to retrieve the remnants of the time turner still in her jacket pocket.

"What is that?" Alara asked, curiously.

"It's what brought us here. I intend to study it; hopefully it can help us find a way to take us back."

Alara nodded, "I'll find something safe for you to keep it in." She threw the clothes onto the fire and stood back to watch them burn momentarily. When the clothes were an unidentifiable mess, Alara stepped back from the fire and made to leave.

"I need to dress, and quickly. I'll send Sarah up to fix your hair - she's a witch, so you won't have to watch what you say around her; you can trust her. I'll return to escort you down to dinner," she announced, before leaving Draco and Hermione alone.

They stared at each other for a moment, in a stunned and slightly overwhelmed silence, before Hermione suddenly began to laugh, causing Draco to frown.

"What's so funny, Granger?"

"Look at us!" Hermione managed to gasp out, as she became hysterical. "We look ridiculous!"

"Speak for yourself," Draco muttered with a frown, suddenly becoming rather self-conscious and beginning to tug and mess with his new clothes.

Hermione wiped her eyes and managed to regain some measure of control; "I'm sorry," she said, sobering up. "But I just can't believe this is real, that this is actually happening - I mean we're about to dine with King Charles, the Second, for Merlin's sake!"

Draco let out a chuckle, "yeah, that is slightly surreal. Not to mention Malfoy Manor is apparently full of Muggles."

Draco laughed as soon as those words left his lips, and Hermione's hysterics returned. Draco fell onto the bed and Hermione clutched the bedpost with one hand, her side with other - the corset restricted her from echoing Draco's movements, prevented her from moving much at all, really. The pair laughed long and hard at their predicament, as the alternative would be falling apart at the seemingly hopeless situation, until the door opened and the arrival of the maid brought them back to sobriety.

"I'm Sarah," she announced, as if she had walked in on nothing more than two people sat quietly awaiting her arrival. "Alara sent me to do your hair, Miss Anamaria."

Hermione cleared her throat, ridding the last of her laughter; "yes, of course. Thank you," she said, moving to the seat at the oversized vanity. "And please, call me Ana - Anamaria is such a mouthful."

"Right you are, Miss Ana," Sara smiled shyly, coming to stand behind Hermione and picking up a brush.

"You hair is beautiful," Sarah said after a moment and Hermione saw Draco - who was lounging back against the pillows, looking artfully disarrayed, and yet refined - give a raised eyebrow, and look of wonderment at such a sentence. "How do you get it so big? Most ladies would kill for curls like yours," she added, sounding wistful.

Hermione couldn't help but smile; her hair was not the bushy abomination it used to be at school, but there were still a lot of curls and a lot of volume - just considerably less frizz. "It's just naturally like this."

Sarah was silent for a moment as she finished running the brush through Hermione's hair, making it smooth and glossy. "Usually I would pin up by hand, but as time is short would you mind terribly if I used my wand? Alara assured me you were a witch, otherwise I wouldn't presume to do magic in front of you," Sarah said, still sounding rather timid.

Hermione smiled, "by all means, go right ahead."

In a matter of minutes, and a few complicated wand waves, Hermione's hair was in an elaborate up-do, much the same as Alara's. However, the front tresses left to fall gracefully to her shoulders were causing Sarah to frown as they didn't sit quite right, thanks to Hermione's modern hairstyle.

"May I adjust the length?" Sarah asked, her shyness lost in the frown. Hermione simply nodded and Sarah did what was needed to make the hair look perfect.

As Sarah was making the final adjustments to Hermione's hair, the door opened and Alara re-entered wearing an emerald and silver ensemble almost identical to Hermione's own.

"Excellent work, Sarah," Alara smiled as she entered. "Could you run down to the kitchens and tell them we will be ready for dinner to be served in twenty minutes? Give them my apologies for the delay this evening."

Sarah smiled and curtseyed; "yes, My Lady," she said, before disappearing from the room, closing the door behind her.

Alara came further into the room, holding something out for Hermione who stood from the dressing table and took the offering.

"I found this pouch in my jewel box," Alara explained. "It can be worn around your neck; the filigree chain makes it appear as a necklace, while the leather pouch stays hidden in your corset."

"It's perfect. Thank you," Hermione smiled, retrieving the Time-Turner fragments and the vial of sand, and putting them into the pouch before slipping the chain about her neck.

"Well, now that you are all dressed properly, how about we go down to dinner?"

Draco stood from the bed, with no trace of emotion on his face, but Hermione's smile disappeared and was replaced with a look of nerves.

"Don't worry," Alara smiled as she led them through the Manor and back downstairs. "You'll be fine; a majority of the crowd are Muggles, however, so you might want to watch what you say – though most do know about magic. Now, we need a reason as to why you are here," she declared as she led them back down to the dining hall, where the party was gathered.

"I don't know how society stands, in your time, but here a single gentleman and a single lady do not travel together alone," Alara's eyes suddenly shone with excitement once more, as she turned suddenly to face them bringing them all to a halt. "I have it! You've eloped!"

"Beg pardon?" Draco said, while Hermione simply stared.

"It's perfect!" Alara continued. "Beautifully scandalous, yet romantic: My cousin Alaric Malfoy, whose family disapprove of his romantic attachment to the vivacious Anamaria Granger, has come to me for refuge. You intend to marry her, in secret if need be, and have thrown off all claims to your inheritance in the name of love. Come, it is the only plausible explanation," Alara assured them.

"Erm, no," Draco said bluntly, and Hermione rolled her eyes at his lack of tact. "There has to be something more plausible," he practically begged.

"While I'm trying hard not to be offended by the underlying sentiments of that sentence-" Hermione scowled at Draco, before turning to Alara "-is there any way we could be travelling together _without_ being romantically involved? What about relations? Cousins maybe?"

Alara shook her head, "you look nothing alike, we will convince no one you are family. But this will work; you are going to tell this story, it is the only one to be believed." There was a hint of finality in Alara's tone that brokered no argument, and so Draco and Hermione continued in resigned silence until they entered the dining hall.

There was a brief lull in the conversations as everyone took in the appearance of the newcomers, but normality soon reigned again as Alara meandered them through the long benches and the crowd.

"Oh my god," Hermione muttered, starting to look nervous yet excited, as she saw to whom Alara was leading them.

"What's wrong with you?" Draco asked quietly, and none too gently. Then looking at her line of sight, he asked, "Who is he?"

Hermione gave him a scathing look. "Unbelievable," was all she could utter before they came to the person in question.

"Your Majesty," Alara swept forward into a curtsey. "Forgive me for the delay with dinner - I had some unexpected guests. Allow me to introduce my cousin, Alaric Malfoy, and his betrothed, Anamaria Granger."

As Alara introduced them, Hermione stepped forward and imitated Alara's curtsey to perfection, though a blush was evidently forming across her cheeks. Draco bowed a second later, looking smooth and confident, although a little unsure of the correct seventeenth century etiquette.

"Alara, my darling, when the delay is as beautiful as this vision before me, all must be forgiven," Charles announced with flourish, taking Hermione's hand to assist her up from her curtsey, before pressing it to his lips.

Hermione smiled and blushed harder. "Your Majesty is too kind," she said, avoiding all eyes and missing the dark look that had flickered across Draco's face.

"You are only betrothed, not married," Charles repeated, looking now at Draco, who wasted no time in possessively taking up Hermione's hand as the King dropped it. "Yet you travel unchaperoned?"

"They eloped," Alara confided in a stage whisper of conspiracy, that all those closest could hear, and at which Charles' eyes sparkled with delight.

"What an entertaining story that will make, I don't doubt. I would very much like to hear it," Charles declared.

"I'm sure they will tell all, if your Majesty asks it, but dinner is ready whenever you are," Alara interrupted with good grace. "Ana, go with Rose, she will look after you. Alaric, you will eat with Peterson and the other gentlemen," she instructed, before being whisked away to the high table on the arm of the King.

Hermione and Draco had enough time to exchange a brief look of trepidation before being taken to their separate tables to enjoy the feast that was now being brought through the doors.

It didn't take long for Hermione's nerves to settle a little, though a slight underlying tension never left her. Rose turned out to be a rather chatty companion, filling Hermione in on who was in love with whom, which of the gentlemen had written sonnets - some rather good, some terribly poor - to which of the ladies, and whom the King's eyes were starting to stray to next. From what little Hermione gleaned that evening, King Charles II was more promiscuous than even Henry VIII had been.

"Now, do tell me," Rose begged, as platters of fruit were placed on the tables. "You eloped? I long to know everything. Why did you elope?"

Hermione smiled mischievously; here was something she could at least control, and she intended to exploit the situation.

"Our families do not approve of our attachment. I cannot truly say why for Ma- erm, Alaric's parents - no doubt they believe my family and I to be beneath them," Hermione said, knowing full well, that if Draco was asked this question, that would undoubtedly be his response. "But my father disapproved because he is rather prejudiced against the Malfoy family - he thinks them haughty, too proud for their own good, and their behaviour to anyone they think beneath them is less than courteous, to put it politely. He also doesn't like the French," Hermione added with a grin of inspiration. "And while the Malfoys have lived in England for generations now, the name still stirs those feelings of discontent."

"But you obviously do not agree?" Rose smiled. "Alaric cannot be everything your father thinks a Malfoy is, or else you would not be here."

"No," Hermione said thoughtfully, glancing over to the table where Draco was sat eating, drinking and talking, looking more comfortable than before. "He is nothing like his father, who does harbour most of the qualities I described," Hermione said truthfully. "Alaric can first seem haughty and proud, but that is only because he rarely speaks to those he doesn't know. He is not a very easy person to get to know, he is very reserved. But, once you get to know him, he's a completely different person to what you first thought."

Draco looked up then and met Hermione's eyes. His brow furrowed ever so slightly as he gave her a single nod, and Hermione knew he was asking if she was all right. Hermione smiled widely and nodded back, _all fine here_ , she silently communicated, and Draco's face cleared.

As Hermione turned back to Rose, Draco turned his attention back to Peterson, who had just commented: "Your betrothed is a very beautiful lady, how did you woo her with such success?"

Draco grinned, ''I'm a Malfoy, it was easy."

"She doesn't look like a lady whose heart is easily won, nor one who would readily agree to an elopement," Peterson mused, glancing over to where she sat. Draco glanced back, wondering how he could tell that on so little an acquaintance, and watched for a moment. Every woman surrounding Hermione, though talking to each other, were continually glancing at the gentlemen and exchanging coquettish smiles and blushes. Hermione was the only woman who was completely uninterested in what the men were doing. And when Draco really looked at her he could see what Peterson meant: she had an air of self-assurance about her, that none of the other ladies had. Hermione was an independent woman, who clearly didn't depend on the attentions of men to define her, and her body language displayed this perfectly. In fact, the only other woman exhibiting the same levels of self-assurance was Alara.

"You make wooing her sound easy," Peterson continued, bringing Draco's attention back to their conversation. "But I would wager she was rather a challenge."

Draco couldn't help but laugh; "oh, she is certainly a challenge," he admitted with complete honesty.

"What made you elope? Did your families not approve?" Peterson asked, and when Draco nodded he asked a further, "why?"

Draco shrugged, but allowed himself a sly smile - much the same as the one Hermione had indulged in when asked the same question. "I can't say why her parents did not approve," Draco told him, hoping that Hermione would come up for her own family's story, should she be asked this question, and leave his own family story to him. "But with regards to my family's objections: the Grangers are socially inferior to the Malfoys, and while that means nothing to me anymore, my father has trouble shedding his pride," he said, taking inspiration from the truth.

Peterson stole a glance over at the woman they were discussing. "Granger is an English name, I believe, yet she has a slight look of the continent about her," he mused.

Draco glanced back over to Hermione's table; he had never thought her to look anything but English - truth be told, he had never actually given 'her look' much thought at all. But now that Peterson had pointed this out, Draco immediately noticed that every other woman in the room had the typical pale complexion of an English rose who had been kept out of the sun. However, thanks to the two week holiday Hermione had just returned from, she was sporting one hell of a tan. This, coupled with her dark hair and chocolate eyes, did indeed give her a rather foreign look.

"Her mother is Spanish," Draco said suddenly, almost surprising himself. "Another reason my father disapproved - according to him, Spanish women are too wild to be trusted."

Peterson laughed, "And does she have the wild, Spanish, blood in her?"

Draco couldn't help but grin; "she can be rather feisty when she wants to be," he said with complete honesty.

"But it only makes you love her more," Peterson observed.

"Apparently so,' Draco agreed with a slight frown.

The meal came to an end not long after, but the wine and mead continued to flow as the men and women were once again allowed to mix, and music filled the hall. It didn't take long for Hermione to seek out Draco, feeling a lot calmer once she was back in his presence.

The evening turned out to be rather enjoyable, though exceedingly long and Hermione was glad to get back to their rooms and enjoy the peace and quiet.

"My mother is Spanish?" She questioned Draco when he had shut the door behind them. "What on earth possessed you to say that? It's a good thing I can speak the language."

Draco smirked, "why do you think I chose Spain? I knew you were fluent."

This surprised Hermione and she turned on the stool, where she had been unpinning her hair in the mirror, to face Draco directly. "How?"

"A few weeks after we were first partnered together, you were pulled from our case and placed on another. The suspect had gone underground in Spain and they needed someone undercover, who could speak the language like a native, and draw the suspect out."

"Oh," Hermione said with surprise. "I forgot about that. But why say I'm Spanish at all? Granger is a very English name," she added as she turned back to the mirror.

"Because you don't look English," Draco said simply, as he rummaged around in drawers looking for something suitable to sleep in.

Hermione froze mid-action and stared at Draco, dumbfounded, in the mirror, "How? I can trace my family tree back through nine generations of Englishmen, on both my mother's and father's side; I am as British as they come. _How_ can I not look English?"

"Because, _Miss England,_ " Draco smirked, "while every other English woman in the room tonight was white as milk, _you_ are sporting one hell of a tan thanks to your two week trip to Greece."

Hermione stood from the stool and moved behind the dressing screen, saying as she went: "you really do pay attention to me, when I speak, don't you?"

"Granger, you spoke of nothing else for three days - even a deaf man would know," Malfoy complained, but Hermione heard the smirk in his voice and laughed.

"What can I say? It was a wonderful trip."

Hermione emerged from behind the screen and moved to get into the large bed.

"What are you doing?" Draco asked, stopping mid-fold of his shirt.

Hermione turned to him without lifting her head from the pillow, "what does it look like? I'm getting into bed."

"Yes, my bed."

Hermione rolled her eyes, "are you really going to be petulant, now? It's late, I've had a long day and I am exhausted-"

"There is a perfectly good bed in the next room," Draco interrupted.

"Have you seen the size of it? It's barely big enough for one person. _This_ one, on the other hand, can fit about five people in with room to spare."

"Seriously? The bed next door is not that small,"

"Then you go sleep in it," Hermione snapped, rolling onto her side with her back to Draco.

"No way," Draco refused vehemently. "It's too small for _me_. And I need a good sleep too."

"Well, I'm in now and I'm not moving. You can either share this bed, or sleep in your own next door. Your move."

"That one is too small," Draco grumbled, tossing back the covers at the other side of the bed in poor grace, and climbing in. "And I suppose there is enough extra room here, that it's as if I have it to myself anyway."

"Besides, it's not like we haven't shared a bed before," Hermione reminded him with a chuckle. She rolled onto her back, keeping a large person's distance between them. "And that bed was considerably smaller."

"That hotel was so unorganised - who messes up reservations like that?"

Hermione laughed, "You really believed that? The department organised accommodation for us, as always, and they've never messed up before."

"You're saying they did that to us on purpose?" Draco asked looking across at her. "Why would they do that to us? What do we ever do to them?"

"You mean besides forever pushing the boundaries and crossing the lines?" Hermione joked. "Or maybe going beyond our jurisdiction and ignoring very direct orders?"

"We solve cases don't we?"

"Yes," Hermione conceded. "But I think our superiors would prefer it if we did it _without_ going behind their backs and stepping on Aurors' toes. We really do get ourselves into more trouble than we should," Hermione said thoughtfully.

"I didn't hear you complaining, or protesting, at the time. In fact, you instigate it half the time," Draco defended himself.

"I never said I didn't, I was just reminding you that sometimes we are a pain in our departments ass, and the only reason we still have our jobs is because we are the best people they have - the department wouldn't last five minutes without us."

Draco snorted, "very modest, Granger."

"I've clearly been around you too long, you ego is rubbing off on me," Hermione smirked. "And you should probably start calling me Anamaria."

"Even when we're alone?"

Hermione nodded, "the more we get used to it, the less likely we are to accidentally slip up in front of people."

"All right," Draco said after a moment, seeing the logic in her suggestion. "Anamaria it is. I can do that until we find our way back."

" _If_ we find our way back," Hermione whispered. "What if we don't? What if we're stuck here? Harry and Ginny are getting married in a week, and I'm their bridesmaid."

"We'll find a way - it may take a while, but we'll find it." Draco reassured her. "And the beauty of time travel is that we can return to the same day we left."

"But what if it's not possible?"

"You're the smartest witch of our generation, and I'm pretty damn smart too - if anyone can figure it out, we can. We'll take it one day at a time. And if it can't be done, we'll deal with it when we get to it. But for now, sleep - tomorrow we'll speak with Alara; maybe this Harry bloke _will_ be able to help us, just like she said."

Hermione nodded and sighed. "A day at a time."

"A day at a time. Goodnight, Anamaria."

Hermione managed a small smile, "Goodnight, Alaric."

* * *

 _ **A/N: These first few chapters have been a little slow, just sort of setting the scene. They are going to start picking up now, and are probably going to bet a little bit longer as well. I've already made a start on the next chapter so I'll try and get it out over the weekend :)**_

 _ **Thanks for reading**_

 _ **xBx**_


	4. Chapter 4

_**A/N: I'm finally back! After an extremely long and unexpected hiatus, where real life got slightly crazy and I just couldn't find the inspiration to write anything good, I finally managed to get pen to paper again. Thank you to everyone who has read and reviewed so far, I hope you're enjoying the story so far, I hope to have more updates for you soon (at least once a month)**_

 _ **xBx**_

* * *

 **Chapter IV**

The following morning, when Hermione awoke, Draco was already awake and seemingly struggling with the finer points of the time-appropriate attire he was destined to wear that day. It wasn't until she emerged from the adjoining dressing room, ready to descend to breakfast, that he finally spoke to her.

"How did you sleep?" He asked.

Hermione gave a non-committal shrug. "It wasn't the worst night's sleep of my life, I'll admit. But it was rather restless – I just don't like feeling as though we're not doing anything to get back home," she explained quietly.

Draco nodded understandingly, "Today we can make a start, at least."

The breakfast routine echoed that of last night's dinner: the men and women ate at their separate tables; Alara was seated at the King's table and so it wasn't until the meal was over that Hermione and Draco could speak with her.

Alara sought them out, and took them into the family library – not as grand or as large as the main library, but crammed full of spell books and instruments that perhaps weren't too suitable for Muggle eyes.

"Do you have the substance which brought you here?" Alara asked.

Hermione nodded and removed the pouch from around her neck, emptying the contents onto the mahogany table in the centre of the room, taking a seat as she did so.

"Well, what's left of them at any rate," Hermione said, as Alara took a seat next to her.

"Last night you mentioned someone named Harry Peverell?" Draco queried, moving away from the window where he had been stood, and approaching the table. "Who is he - ?"

" _She_ ," Alara corrected. "Harrie: as in Harriett. We were good friends at Hogwarts, but she was rather a loose cannon," she explained fondly. "She had many mad and wild ideas, and was always in search of the next adventure. She has travelled a lot since leaving school, though recently I believe she has remained within the Caribbean – she very rarely mentions in a letter where she is. But the last time she wrote she said something of time travel."

Here, Alara produced the letter in question and handed it to Hermione to read. Draco stepped up behind her to read over her shoulder; he placed one hand on the back of her chair, the other on the table beside her.

Hermione focused on the letter and read through it quickly, "she talks of theory only – it doesn't sound like she has any idea how to do it."

"No," Alara agreed. "But at least she has a theory. And she only ever puts half her story in a letter; no doubt she knows more than is said."

" _The Sands of Time_?" Draco asked, who had continued to read.

Alara shrugged, "I've never heard of that before, but I'm going to take a wild guess here and say that _this-_ " she picked up the vile of sand from the time-turner "-is a sample."

"So we need to find Harriett," Hermione stated. "But, how?"

"I can help you there," Alara smiled.

"But you said you didn't know where she was?" Draco frowned, straightening up from the table.

"I don't know her exact coordinates, no," Alara agreed. "But a friend of mine – a Captain Morgan - should be making port soon. He intends to be in London for Christmas. I will introduce you, and you can sail with him when he returns to the Spanish Main, I'm sure I can persuade him to take you."

" _Henry_ Morgan?" Hermione asked with a grin.

"You've heard of him?" Alara asked in pleasant surprise.

"She'll have read about him in some book, I don't doubt," Draco rolled his eyes.

Hermione smiled and quelled a giggled, "not quite."

Draco gave her a questioning look, but she only shook her head and gave him a look that told him she would explain later.

"Well, regardless," Alara continued, "dear Henry will assist you as far as he can. And the King wishes to leave for London at the end of the week, so we can all travel down together – he intends to be established back in Whitehall by early December."

"It's not even November yet! It does not take that long to get from here to London!" Draco exclaimed.

"There are a few houses along the way in which he tends to spend a week or so – believe me, this is a rushed journey. I will write to Henry: the letter will be waiting for him when he docks. And now it's time for you to be taught a few things, to make sure you fit in with us. Alaric, if you go to the ballroom you'll find the fencing master - you ought to master the use of a blade while you are here, especially where you're going."

Draco grinned, "now that sounds like fun."

Alara smiled and turned to Hermione, "Anamaria, we will return to the large drawing room with the other ladies-"

"I don't get to go fencing?" Hermione asked, sounding crestfallen.

Alara laughed, "of course not! Swords are for the men! You know how to stitch of course?"

Draco let out a snort of laughter at Hermione's obvious disgust.

"Stich?! I have to sit and embroider, while he gets all the fun? How is that fair?"

"A hunt is organised for tomorrow – not many ladies join, but I never miss it. Perhaps that will be more to your liking. I'll find you a riding habit, we can go to the stables this afternoon if you like, and get in a ride after luncheon?" Alara tried to placate her while Draco continued to snigger.

"I'll just pen this letter, and then we'll go down," Alara said to Hermione, moving from the table in the direction of the writing desk at the other end of the room. "Alaric, you can go when you like – you know where the ballroom is?"

"I do." Draco looked to Hermione before he left, "where did you read about Henry Morgan if not in a book?" he asked her quietly, so that Alara wouldn't hear.

Hermione chuckled. "A rum bottle," she admitted. " _Captain Morgan_ is a Muggle brand of spiced rum, named after the gentleman we were just discussing. Very popular and rather nice actually."

Draco gave a chuckle, and an appreciative look, before departing to his fencing lesson.

The rest of Hermione's morning was tediously dull, not even the singer and his lute could dull the monotony of stitching the ludicrously large alter cloth. Some of the men found them before lunch, but Draco wasn't among them. They read poetry, and they sang, and while Hermione would have liked to join in just to do something different, she had no knowledge of any of the lyrics.

Finally, lunch arrived and afterwards Alara remained true to her promise. It took little under an hour to dress appropriately, but eventually Hermione was outdoors doing something somewhat active – though riding side-saddle proved to be somewhat tricky. She got the hang of it quick enough, however, and eventually she and Alara struck out into the grounds at full gallop, leaving the Stable Master (who would usually accompany the ladies on a ride) far behind. They eventually came to a lake, and there they dismounted, hobbled their horses close to the bank, allowing them to drink if they wished, and sat for a brief respite.

"I'm curious," Alara started hesitatingly. "I most likely shouldn't enquire, but, what is it like for women in the time where you are from? Forgive me, but it seems that you expected to be treated as an equal with Alaric – to be involved in all his activities. It seems odd to me, that you would expect to learn how to fight."

"Are you telling me you don't know how to fight, with a sword?" Hermione queried. "Forgive _me_ , but, as a Malfoy, I would expect you to know how to defend yourself in any way possible. And I wouldn't expect anyone in your family to keep to social conventions if it countered your desires."

Alara grinned, "It would appear that the Malfoys haven't changed much over the years, you are well acquainted with them, I take it? As a matter of fact, my father taught me to fence when I was a girl. But no respected fencing master would teach me: swords were not meant for ladies."

"It's very different in my time," Hermione finally answered the initial question. "Women are treated just the same as men, on the most part. We are allowed to learn everything they learn, do the jobs they do. There are still some who think us the weaker the sex – but they are soon proven wrong," Hermione smirked.

Alara chuckled. "I think you will do well with Henry: He is different to most men – instead of trying to shut you away in a cabin, he will expect you to earn your place among the crew. Should you decide to sail with him of course?"

"That decision was made this morning," Hermione assured her.

"Then he will treat you like any other person on board – he is a unique soul, I think. And if you don't learn any sword work before you sail, you certainly won't be leaving his ship without learning something, I am sure."

"He sounds refreshing – I can't wait to meet him," Hermione admitted.

That evening passed much the same as before, though Hermione retired slightly earlier. When Draco finally made his way to their room, she was waiting for him crossed legged on the bed with a pair of swords in front of her and a determined and expectant look on her face.

"What's about to happen?" Draco asked warily. He had seen this look many a time since they had started working together – he knew she had some scheme she would not be talked out of and he was about to be unceremoniously dragged along for the ride.

"Teach me," she said simply.

Draco's eyes darted to the swords and he knew exactly what she meant.

"I've only had one lesson -" he began, but Hermione interrupted.

"That's one more than me."

She rose from the bed, swords in hand, and offered one to Draco, hilt first: "Teach me."

"There's not enough room in here," he said, taking the offered sword. Hermione didn't cut him off this time – this wasn't a rejection of her proposal, he was simply pointing out an inconvenience. She waited, and let him provide the solution.

"We'll apparate into the ballroom – it's not being used at all."

The rest of the week followed much the same pattern as their first day: Draco would spend every morning with the fencing master, and would then give Hermione the instruction he had received, on a night.

Hermione spent her mornings with the other ladies, reading, stitching or walking out in the grounds, and indulging in idle gossip.

In the afternoons, the gentlemen would never fail to join them and Hermione soon noticed the group divisions that naturally and immediately occurred. Certain of the gentlemen would gravitate toward certain little clusters of the ladies, to flirt with their favourites. Hermione always found herself invited to sit with Alara and entertain King Charles, who didn't bother to hide his clear admiration for Alara's alluring acquaintance.

While Hermione was too modest to fully register the King's admiration, the attention was not lost on Draco, who made a point of being always by Hermione's side whenever the King was near. Not that he was really jealous of course, It was only that they were supposed to be posing as a betrothed couple – he was just playing the part convincingly.

By the end of the week, both Hermione and Draco were beginning to feel acclimated to the customs and etiquette of their new surroundings, and were even starting to enjoy themselves. Though always at the back of their mind was the anxiety of wanting to return home. It came as a slight relief, then, when the end of the week finally arrived and they were getting ready to depart from Malfoy Manor, on the road to London.

The morning of their departure was a flurry of activity in the grounds; carts were being loaded with luggage and food, carriages were being prepared for those ladies who did not wish to ride, and stableboys were running to and fro preparing the horses for either hitching or riding. Hermione had chosen to brave the long ride in the saddle, relishing the idea of the freedom it would undoubtedly bring, and not wanting to sit in a cramped carriage, twiddling her thumbs for hours on end.

After an early lunch, the entire party were loaded and mounted, and the procession departed the grounds not long after midday. Hermione and Draco found themselves placed towards the head of ride with Alara, in those places of honour reserved for the King's favourites. They kept to a steady pace and did not stop until dusk, when they reached the nearby estate of a Nobleman. They stayed two nights in the stately home, surrounded by comforts, before continuing their way. It was now that Hermione and Draco realised that they had been acclimating in a rather protected bubble, since their arrival into 1663. For the first time Hermione would be completely separated from Draco – having now to conform to the traditions of the time, Hermione and Draco were no longer exempt from sleeping in their gender-based designated sleeping quarters. Since their arrival into 1663 they had at least had the night to come together, alone, and talk freely about their own time and how to get back there: this was a luxury they were no longer allowed.

However, despite the segregation of their sleeping quarters, they were still able to sneak their way to a secluded spot in the middle of the night to continue their fencing lessons. Perhaps it was now a little bit of a stretch to call them 'lessons' as Draco was no longer being taught himself, and therefore had nothing new to pass on to her; they simply practised and honed the limited skills they currently possessed.

The King never lacked for an estate to bend his daily course to, and Hermione and Draco soon understood why the King's progress from Wiltshire to London could easily take months. They stayed in various houses for two or even three nights sometimes - if the entertainment afforded was to His Highness' liking, he was happy to stay a week. This was case at the second estate they stopped at, towards the end of October. King Charles intended to remain six nights at Hodcott House, the home to the 7th Earl of Huntingdon. Six nights seemed an extravagant length of time to take out from the journey, but Alara explained it was because Charles wanted to celebrate the Halloween festival in his typical style – a style that could not be accomplished in less than four days at the very least.

The daily routine at Hodcott House was much the same as that at Malfoy Manor, though things became much more exciting when it came to Halloween. The King was anxious to be extravagantly entertained, with a magnificent feast, fantastical decorations and lots of music. Everyone was expected to dress extravagantly and brightly, and more importantly would only be admitted into the feast if their faces were masked.

Alara was tasked with devising a masque for certain of the ladies and the gentlemen to perform to amuse the king and court: Her scheme was a physical representation of the destruction of man when tempted by the seven deadly sins. The seven ladies selected were each to embody a sin; Hermione was a little reluctant to join when the idea was first brought to her, but Alara soon twisted her arm.

"Anamaria, please," Alara coaxed sweetly. "No one wears ruby so well as you, and you have such a natural allure to you, the perfect embodiment – in short, it would be only too natural for you to portray Lust."

"I'm not entirely sure that's a compliment," Hermione frowned. "I almost feel like you're trying to call me a whore, but in the sweetest way possible."

Alara smiled mischievously, "would it help persuade you if I were?"

"No! It most certainly would not!" Hermione exclaimed, attempting to feign offence but laughing good heartedly along.

"Then I most certainly am not saying such a thing!" Alara laughed, before imploring seriously once more. "Oh please, Ana? You will have fun, I swear it."

Hermione supposed she was right – it was not something she would usually be persuaded into. But living in the 17th century was also not the usual, and so she may as well throw herself as much into the experience as possible, she supposed.

"Fine," Hermione agreed with a sigh. "I'll do it."

Alara and the other five ladies gathered about, clapped and giggled with triumphant glee.

In being so caught up with preparations for the Halloween masque, Hermione had little time to give much thought to the quandary of her and Draco's return to their own time. And while this might have reasonably been a source of contention to her, Hermione found herself none too concerned with the fact, and for these few days at least was quite happily employed. Draco, on the other hand, had been fortunate enough to steal away for the odd hour at a time to pour over books and the remnants of the Time Turner.

"How goes preparations for tomorrow?" Draco asked Hermione with a smirk, the evening before Halloween, as they sat down to dinner. During their short acquaintance, Draco and Hermione had somehow endeared themselves to King Charles. Consequently, they were now issued with a coveted invitation to dine with the King and his Lady at the hosts' table, alongside the Earl and his wife.

"I believe so," she said as she reached for her goblet. "It's been rather exhausting, and the disagreements about costumes have been ridiculous," she divulged. "But it has been rather entertaining. Though I would much rather be spending my days trying to figure out the Time Turner."

"Relax," Draco said quietly, a slight bite of defence to his tone. "I am capable of investigating the damn thing myself, you know. I don't need a babysitter."

"I know that," Hermione placated quietly. They kept their voices low, so that their conversation would not be heard by others over the general hub of chatter from the rest of the table. "I am well aware of your capabilities; if anyone has as much chance of figuring this thing out as I do, it's you."

Draco smirked, "is that a compliment?"

"Don't get used to it," Hermione smirked back as the first course was served.

The ceased conversation for a moment to follow custom; Charles tasted a bite, declared the dish delightful, and scolded the rest for standing on ceremony.

"Eat! Eat my friends! And drink! "Tis a night to be merry amongst such fine friends!" Charles lifted his goblet in an impromptu salute, and the rest of table followed suit. "To fine friends" and "to the King's health" echoed around the table as everyone partook in the toast.

As the goblets were set down, Hermione turned back to Draco.

"Have you had any luck, with the sand?" she pressed.

"Some," Draco said thoughtfully, taking small bites of his food. "The sand is definitely magical; there are clear signs of enchantment. But no indication that a spell has been performed over it."

"So you're saying the sand _itself_ is magical?" Hermione clarified quietly. "That it's an organically magical compound, as opposed to sand that-"

"That has had an enchantment placed upon it," Draco finished her sentence for her. "Yes."

"So, the 'sands of time' that Alara mentioned?" Hermione queried. She only needed to say half the question, and knew that Draco would know the rest: after 3 years of partnership they had become accustomed to reading each other.

"It's the only lead we have, and it's not farfetched. But I haven't found anything in the library here that could help."

"Really?" Hermione asked, the disappointment clear in her voice.

"Of course not, the place has been handed down through a long line of Muggles – not one drop of magical influence. Any books I've managed to find pertaining to magical myths and legend are so far off the mark – on the rare occasion they write about something that's actually true, their understanding of it is so much mistaken that even if I had come across anything about the sands of time, I wouldn't have faith in even half a sentence about them."

"Well that's frustrating," Hermione grumbled.

"Tell me about it," Draco scoffed, reaching for his goblet.

"What about the books we brought with us from Malfoy Manor?" Hermione pestered. "Is there anything in there?"

"You tell me, they're locked in your room," he pointed out. "And as a gentleman, I can not be seen sneaking into a lady's chamber."

"I haven't had time to read them," Hermione admitted. Draco stared at her incredulously.

"What?" Hermione asked.

"I'm sorry," Draco smirked. "But I thought I hear notorious bookworm, Hermione Granger - who struggles to find the time to _stop_ reading – that she _didn't have time to read_."

Hermione swatted his arm playfully. "I don't have time to read _those particular books_ ," she clarified. "I read before I sleep, but as I share a room with a muggle who has a lack of regard for personal space, I can't go about reading ancient books on magical artefacts. And it's Anamaria, remember!" She scolded quietly.

"My apologies, _Anamaria_ ," Draco grinned. "Why can't you enchant Alara's books to look like some boring Muggle fiction to anyone else who tries to read it?"

Hermione gave him a withering look. "I can't get one minute to myself to pull those books out of the packing trunk, how am I supposed to whip my wand out start enchanting them?"

Draco acknowledged the sense of this statement with a twitch of his head, but was prevented from responding by the King, who required Hermione's input in his conversation.

The next day was a bustle of activity, from morning until night: The day's revels were to begin early in the afternoon. Little was known about the anticipated theatrical display about to be presented – in keeping with the King's wishes, only those who were part of the performance knew exactly what it was about. King Charles liked to be surprised, and his excitement was palpable when he entered the feasting hall that afternoon to see the rear taken over by a large set piece. The high table was still in its place, but all other tables had been pushed to the sides of the room. The King went to take his seat, inviting a few of his favourite men who were not involved in the masque – Draco prominent among them – to join him. The rest of his courtiers, and those belonging to the house, were left to stand about below the table, leaving some room in front of what was now the stage. The estate's carpenters, and anyone else handy with a hammer or a paintbrush, had been working tirelessly with the actors to create the masterpiece at the other end of the hall. The façade of a castle was painted on a set of large screens along the back; the backdrop was painted as a twilight scene, the castle more eerie than welcoming. In front, wooden blocks that had been painted grey were assembled and stacked in a rambling way to give the appearance of boulders and rocks. These blended into the painted background, making the ascent to the castle look treacherous. Erected throughout the 'boulders' were a few timber frames, draped with thin curtains of fabrics in an assortment of colours. In front of the constructed boulders, at opposite sides of the tableau, were two wooden tables the contents of which were hidden under more fine scarves. The contents to the left were shrouded in various hues of yellow, those on the right were covered with purples and golds.

The ladies were nowhere to be seen as yet, but as the crowd gathered closer and the expectant chatter began to fade, their voices echoed out across the room from behind the veiled frames.

"No man can resist Temptation," the first lady called.

"Temptation takes many forms,"

"What one man resists, another will succumb to."

"Where one Temptation fails to entice, another will undoubtedly succeed," Each line was uttered by a different voice; Hermione's was the first Draco recognised, though it wasn't her usual tone. It was a little deeper, huskier – a little more enticing. He smiled unconsciously, thinking she must be enjoying herself, and looking forward to seeing her play a part.

"Man will always fall at the feet of Temptation," Alara's voice followed on from Hermione.

"Some Temptations are impossible to resist, and they take seven different forms,"

"Man will always succumb to the Seven Deadly Sins." The final lady spoke, and the resident musicians began to play a soft, haunting melody, to accompany the dozen men who had now started moving forward, out from the crowd. They were dressed simply in their shirts and breeches, all in whites and beiges. Each wore a plain white mask to cover their eyes, making it hard for Draco to figure who was who. The lightness of their attire and the white of the masks, told that these were the innocents of the piece, who were no doubt soon to be lured and corrupted by the Temptresses now emerging through the drapes.

The ladies were dressed just as sparingly as the men; as this was essentially a piece of theatre, the strict rules of dress had been discarded. Each wore a plain, though richly coloured, corset with skirts made from fine lengths of almost sheer fabric. The fabric was light and soft, and swayed easily with their movements in an alluring way, often exposing the leg right up to the thigh as they moved across the floor. Some had sheer sleeves to their corsets, that clung delicately to their arms. Others had a simple band of beads or crystals that looped around the arms, below the shoulder, attaching to the corset at the front and back just below the armpit. Some were bedecked with jewels from head to toe, while others had limited jewellery, and each lady wore a different colour. Like they men, they too wore masks to conceal their identity. Each look befitted the sin they were supposed to embody, and everything that was added or omitted only increased each lady's allure.

Draco's eyes were instantly drawn to Hermione; he couldn't fail to recognise here, even though he had never seen her quite like this. Dressed head to toe in ruby red, he was sure she had been given the role of Lust. Her corset had no sleeves, just a delicate band of red crystals caressing each arm. What little jewellery she wore was delicate: a golden anklet with ruby teardrops, small filigree rings on a couple of toes that sparkled with red gemstones, and a golden band, inlaid with fiery crystals snaked up one arm. Her hair, loosely pinned away from her face with curls cascading down her back, was dotted with blood red roses.

She moved with a seductive grace that Draco had never seen in her before; her eyes sparkled from behind the mask she wore, and her red painted lips was curved into a continuous small smile. Clearly, she was enjoying herself, and the sight made Draco smile.

The men and women came together in the beginnings of a dance. It looked an intricate piece of choreography, with seven ladies having to share themselves amongst twelve men, but it was executed with hypnotic charm. As they all twirled around each other, the ladies continued their narrative. The music was soft enough, and their voices strong and clear enough, that every word travelled across the room to where Draco was sat by the King.

Charles was already enchanted, and voiced his approbation to Draco as a server kept their goblets full with wine.

"Temptation can make a man forget himself," one Sin began.

"Forget his duty," another continued.

"Forget his honour."

Draco was unsure who was speaking and when: The constant movement and short lines made it difficult to pinpoint the source, especially when he was somewhat captivated by Hermione. He was watching her every move, almost hypnotised. And he wasn't the only one.

"Everyone falls to Temptation; no one can resist a Sin." Alara continued the narrative. The ladies were all fully in character, every word was spoken seductively, every moment designed to beguile. It appeared to be working – Draco had a feeling that the hypnotic daze the gentleman into which the gentlemen seemed to be slipping was quite possibly real. A similar effect could be seen among the audience, who were becoming more captured and enchanted by the minute.

"But even those who fall can sometimes learn to resist."

"Yet those who resist one Sin, will undoubtedly fall to another," Hermione's voice carried across the room, her tone bewitching yet dark.

"Temptation always wins in the end."

The first Sin now broke away from the group, trailing four men with her. She had plucked a scarf from her skirt and was using it as part of her dance of seduction. She was dressed in yellow, and lead the men towards the table adorned in the scarves that matched her costume, twirling around and through the four men as she went.

"Gluttony is the easiest sin to resist, and yet the easiest to succumb to," She whipped the yellow coverings from the table to reveal an elaborate banquet – so elaborate and delicious looking that Draco had a suspicion that Alara and Hermione had perhaps assisted with the table decorations in their own magical way.

"We indulge in the temptation every day," Gluttony continued, as her seduced men began to eat – or at least acted to. "and yet only a few fail to desist."

"Greed is just as capable of seduction, though a little harder to resist," Another of the ladies separated from the dance, trailing two men this time. She was swathed in rich purples and gold, and had the finest jewellery of the ladies – including a magnificent tiara that glittered strikingly from her raven hair. As she swept past Gluttony's table, two of the men left the food to join Greed, and they danced toward the opposite table.

"Once man gets a taste of what he likes, what he enjoys," she declared, as she pulled off the violet and golden covers to reveal mountains of jewels and golds spread across the second table. "He longs for more of it, but it still is not enough."

"Both will consume," Gluttony chimed back in, as the others continued to dance in the centre of them. "and soon the weakest begin to fall." The two men left at Gluttony's table began to slow, and then slumped forward. The first victims of the Seven Deadly Sins, Gluttony covered them with her yellow shawls, as if to claim them in victory, before returning to the central dance.

A third moved out toward the painted castle, she was garbed in a calming blue. Like the two sins before her, she trailed two of the men with her and as she passed the table of Greed, she coveted two more. Those who once belonged to Greed had dropped their share of treasure and followed this new Sin towards the rocks. The closer the got, the slower they seemed to move.

"Sloth is slow to take her hold, but when she strikes her hold is hard to break." She ripped away a blue scarf from her skirt, and when she passed it seductively over a man's skin he drooped, resting across the rocks.

The others were continuing to dance; Greed consumed the two men that had remained at the table and they were now covered in scarves of the own, the Sin herself had returned to the central group. And now it was Hermione who stepped away from the group.

She had been dancing closer to two of the gentlemen, her fingertips delicately brushed against them tracing their shoulders before moving off and beckoning them to follow. It was only a dance, an act, and there was barely any contact, but the action stirred something in Draco.

"Only lust can save you from sloth," Hermione declared, moving toward the leaning men, her voice even more husky and seductive than before. She ripped two scarves from her own skirt, and trailed them over three of Sloth's victims as she moved among them, causing them to stir and move on to join her. "Lust can ignite a fire from the tiniest of sparks."

She was surrounded by five men now, all completely captivated by her movements and her voice as she continued to dance with them. The movements brought them all closer together, Hermione's body often brushing against the gentlemen surrounding her, as she led them towards one of the archways through which some of the ladies had first appeared.

It took a moment for Draco to realise the unpleasant frustration he was currently experiencing was in fact jealousy. He pushed the feeling away and took a deep drink from his goblet – he had no reasons to be jealous, on second thought, it probably wasn't even really jealousy he was feeling.

"Lust can easily consume you," Hermione was saying. "She turns a modest affection into a burning passion." She had reached the archway, and now pulled down the sheet that had been covering it. From the beams hung strips of red and orange and yellow, giving the impression of fire.

"Those too weak to resist, give themselves willingly to her flames." Two of her men danced her way through the arch and were seen no more. The others were distracted then, by Alara. Dressed in emerald green, it was now her turn to seduce.

"When envy sweeps amongst you, men forget the value of what they already have, and instead turn amongst themselves, coveting what his neighbour has."

She drew Lust's men back towards the others – only five remained now, surrounded by the seven Sins, but it was Alara's Envy that moved among them.

"Envy draws on the other Sins: she makes you covet what belongs to another - what Gluttony makes others consume and Greed makes others hoard, Envy makes you covet for yourself. When Envy consumes you," she declared, removing a green scarf and wrapping it around one of the men. "you do anything to take what others have." She drew her victim away from the others, into a seductive dance of their own, until he fell at her feet. Envy returned to the dance, her scarf left trailing over her victim.

Only two Sins were yet to take their victim. The one adorned in dark crimson, so dark it was close to black, now wound her way through the remaining four men, as the other Sins continued their seductions around them.

"Anger is the most intense of the Sins," she said in a voice brimming with hatred. "Once she takes root, you cannot shake her. Anger bubbles inside you, until you no longer have control. Anger claims more victims than just those she seduces, she claims the victims of her victims too." As Anger moved through the men, their dance changed. The tension that Envy had sowed now boiled over, until on only one man remained standing.

Anger draped her three victims with crimson shawls from her skirt, and then moved away. The six Sins who had so far been victorious now surrounded the last man standing, who was now to face the final Sin. She was clad head to toe in Black, no jewellery adorned her, there were no embellishments, yet she was still hauntingly irresistible.

"Pride. Pride is the ultimate, insurmountable Sin," She declared, sending a chill down Draco's spine. "She affects but few, yet destroys acutely. For Pride makes you believe you are invincible," The last gentleman standing now stood taller, defiant against his Sin, ready to fight, believing he can win. "But alas, no one is invincible, and you will fall at Pride's feet in the end."

Pride stepped forward to meet the defying gentleman. She reached up to place a gentle kiss on his lips. The last man standing stood no more, he fell at her feet, and Pride draped him with black.

The Sins work complete, they retreated to where they came from, stepping over their victims, and climbing back amongst the rocks and through the curtains, voicing their warnings as they went.

"No man can resist Temptation."

"Temptation takes many forms,"

"What one man resists, another will succumb to."

"Where one Temptation fails to entice, another will succeed."

"Man will always fall at the feet of Temptation."

"Some Temptations are impossible to resist, and they appear in seven separate forms."

"Man will always fall at the feet of the Seven Deadly Sins"

* * *

 _ **A/N: I may have got a little carried away with the masque there, but I hope you enjoyed it. It did make the chapter at bit longer than I expected. Sorry for making you guys wait so long for the update - it hopefully won't happen again**_

 _ **xBx**_


	5. Chapter 5

_**A/N: Sorry for the delay, but here is the next update. The chapter started getting a little too long so it's had a few re-writes to get it to where I wanted, but I finally got there. Thank you to everyone who has read so far, and thank you for all my reviews, you guys are awesome :)**_

 _ **Enjoy!**_

 _ **xBx**_

* * *

 **Chapter V**

A large feast followed the masque, consisting of so many courses that Hermione lost count, and accompanied by a seemingly endless supply of wine to compliment. How anyone could still stand at the end of it, Hermione was at a loss to understand, but stand they did. As the feasting came to an end, and the revelry from the lower tables began to teeter over into raucousness, King Charles retreated into a cosier evening parlour along with the Earl of Huntingdon and his wife, and a number of his particular favourites – Hermione and Draco included.

Their revels in the parlour were less exuberant than those in the hall, but they were still merry and loud: A singer wandered about the room, entertaining small groups here and there, although he was difficult to hear over the laughter and conversation that constantly flowed until the small hours of the morning.

As had become custom, Draco kept Hermione close, and the pair were invited to entertain Charles. Alara was naturally part of their circle, and this evening they were joined by the Earl and his son. Tonight, Charles was regaling them with anecdotes from the civil war; he began telling a story of the Battle of Worchester, in which he was defeated by Cromwell and apparently only escaped by hiding in an oak tree. While Hermione found this first-hand account of the legend captivating, Alara had apparently heard this story several times, and gently disengaged Hermione from the group to sit with her in a comfortable window seat to the side of their group. They were still close enough to catch the odd the comment from Charles and the others, but far enough away that their own quieter conversation would remain unheard.

"I have heard that story a hundred times already," Alara sighed as they took a seat.

"One of his favourites?" Hermione asked, and Alara rolled her eyes. "Is it true? Did he really hide in a tree? I've heard the legend before, but it really is something else to hear it from his own lips," Hermione mused in awe.

"Honestly? I cannot say if it is true or not," Alara laughed. "But I am not surprised the story withstands the test of time – he loves retelling it."

They sat quietly for a moment, watching the group they had just left, catching the odd word of Charles story – he had moved on now, to tales of his exile. Alara gave a sudden sigh, and Hermione looked at her questioningly.

"We shall take to the road again now, maybe even tomorrow, and I for one am not disappointed," Alara confided. "These long journeys tire me, I long for my own house again."

'So, when we get to London?" Hermione questioned. "You won't be staying at White Hall, with Charles?"

"Merlin, no!" Alara exclaimed in a whisper. "The Queen would not take kindly to my presence."

"The queen?" Hermione asked, confused for a moment and then her eyes widened in realisation. "Of course!" she breathed, clutching at memories of her early education. "Catherine, is it?"

Alara nodded. "The Princess Catherine of Braganza, from Portugal. They married last year, and it looked to be fruitful match," Alara confided, and Hermione leaned in closer. "Catherine was with child within a couple of months of taking to the marriage bed. But the child was lost, much to Charles displeasure. Of course, His Majesty didn't let it bother him for long: he revelled and found a mistress or three – one of whom he got with child very quickly."

The girls were so caught up in their conversation, they failed to realise they were soon the object of admiring observation. Draco had naturally been watching Hermione and his relation out of the corner of his eye from the moment they had removed themselves. Despite her early misgivings and anxieties, it seemed Hermione was settling into this century, and really start to enjoy the Anamaria persona. Not that she was much different here to her usual self, but she was fitting in remarkably well. Today, in particular, he had seen the sparkle return to her eyes that had been missing since their foray into the past.

This evening Hermione was dressed in the ruby gown she had worn their first night here at Malfoy Manor, and her hair was still styled as it had been for the earlier masque – left to fall down her back and still dotted with roses. Alara was dressed in a similar style of gown, though in emerald, and her hair formally pinned up. The matching masks they had been required to wear, first for the play and then the following feast, were now discarded across each lady's lap.

Whatever the two were discussing, it must have been fascinating, and possibly scandalous; Hermione and Alara had their heads bent together, secretive smiles playing on their lips and suggestive glints in their eyes. Their conversation was low, so Draco couldn't hear a single word they said, but the tableau they had formed was captivating enough without their words. So captivating in fact, that Draco wasn't the only one to be soon drawn to it.

"What a charming pair they make," Charles commented to Draco, following his line of sight. "Very beautiful women, your cousin and fiancé. I could watch them all night."

"Quite," Draco agreed. There really was something quite mesmerising about the pair this evening. "They would make a captivating portrait."

"You are absolutely right!" Charles agreed, with sudden excitement. He summoned a passing servant in haste, "You there, fetch me Sir Peter at once."

Sir Peter Lely was the King's principal painter, and Charles had brought him along on his visit to Wiltshire for the purpose of taking Alara's likeness so that he could carry her miniature on his person at all times. His services were once more required, for something a little more ambitious than a simple palm-sized portrait. The servant hastened away, and Charles turned back to Draco to join him in watching the two ladies in the window.

"You are absolutely right," Charles repeated. "I want this vision captured, and immortalised, so I can look at it forever." Sometimes the man really could be quite dramatic.

They were quickly joined by Sir Peter, who had been at the other end of the room.

"You requested me, your Highness," He bowed as he approached.

"Yes," Charles spoke quietly, "I require your excellent talents, good sir. I want you to paint a scene for me."

"Of course, my King, whatever you desire. What scene do you wish me to capture?"

Charles took Sir Peter by the arm and brought him gently around to stand between him and Draco, so he could view Hermione and Alara in their alcove.

"That!" Charles announced, barely above a whisper, with a dramatic flair. "I want you to capture that – immortalise it in canvas forever. I want an exact representation: the colours, their heads together, just so, in confidence. Those smiles tugging at their lips, and that conspiring look in their eyes. Take down what you can now, but without bringing the ladies' attentions to you – I don't want such an enchanting scene disturbed. And then hasten to London in the morning. I want this masterpiece complete before the year is out."

"As you desire, your Highness," Sir Peter gave another small bow, as he pulled out a small sketchpad and pencil from inside his coat, and set to work.

There were many seats around the room, and Sir Peter moved from one to another to find the perfect angle as he sketched Hermione and Alara's current position. The women were too involved in their conversation to pay attention to what any of the men were doing, and so never noticed that they were under such scrutinies. When he had the basic outline, and a detailed likeness of their expressions, the painter then sat and wrote a full page of notes about the surrounding setting, and the colours and lighting to be captured on the full canvas. When all was done, he excused himself, no doubt to pack his things and ready himself for his early journey on the morning.

With the excitement of the Halloween revels now over, King Charles became restless once more – so restless, that the following morning he was ready to continue on the road to White Hall instantly. The morning was spent in a bustle of hasty preparations for travel, and by early afternoon they bid goodbye to Hodcott House and set off on the long progress to London.

They stayed in a few more grand houses along the way, though never for as long as their stay at Hodcott. After two or three nights in one place, they moved on to the next, until they finally reached Westminster during the third week of November. It was just coming dusk when they reached the boundary walls of White Hall Palace, and it was here that Alara, Hermione, and Draco parted ways with Charles and the others.

Instead of taking up residence at White Hall, they continued further along to Alara's Townhouse on the banks of the River Thames, just west of the City of London. They reached the gates just before dark, but the windows of the house already danced with candlelight – Alara had sent her own servants (human and house elves alike) on ahead to prepare for their arrival. The house was a well-built, brick and timber Tudor house. It was modest in comparison to Malfoy Manor, but at three-stories high, and of an expansive width, it still fell into the class of a mansion. The house was set far back from the road, behind high walls within a generous sized garden, and had its own private dock on the river.

Being close to mid-winter, the nights fell early and so the travellers had time to wash and change before dinner was ready to be served. For the first time, dining was now a very low-key affair compared to the pageantry that attended the feasts of King Charles. Tonight was a humble family affair, just the three of them at a large round table in the family dining room. The simpleness was refreshing, and the trio savoured the freedom from courtly etiquette, to talk of whatever they pleased. Currently they were discussing the house.

"Is it part of the Malfoy estate?" Draco asked. "I don't remember seeing anything about it."

"It isn't really, not anymore," Alara smiled. "The estate is entailed to male heirs only. Since I am an only child, Malfoy Manor now belongs to my cousin Nicolai. He is rather a restless sort, and he is currently serving in the King's Royal Navy. While he is at sea, I remain at the Manor as Lady of the house. But in a few years, he will return, he will marry, and he will settle. While I cannot inherit the Wiltshire house, my father purchased this separate to the estate, and left it to me in my name. When Nicolai takes possession of the Manor, I will move here permanently."

"Surely there's plenty of room for you at the Manor?" Hermione questioned, sounding slightly incredulous.

"Certainly," Alara agreed. "But I like being the Lady of the House – I like running things in my own way. I won't be able to do that there once he marries and takes possession. And anyway, London is far more exciting – there is always much more happening in town than in the country."

"So we'll be having quite a busy time of it while we're here then?" Draco grinned.

"There will be plenty to do to fill the time until you leave," Alara agreed.

"So we're still leaving with this Morgan guy?" Draco asked. "He's happy to take us along?"

"I haven't received a note from him – he may not have docked yet. We'll go down to the markets along Billingsgate this week and see what news there is of his ship."

Their daily routines in London – just as Alara had promised – were fairly active, and they rarely spent a day at home. Some days they spent at White Hall with Charles and his court, others they would wander into the city, usually by barge though sometimes by carriage, and every Sunday they would spend time during the morning and evening in the family chapel. Even on the rare days spent at home, they were never idle: Draco took up proper sword lessons once more, and when it was discovered that he was later teaching Hermione, they managed to convince the fencing master to teach her also, at the same time.

Henry Morgan arrived in London during their first week there; Alara and Hermione had ventured down to the dockside markets taking Draco along as their chaperone. As they walked along Billingsgate Dock, Alara stopped one of the young boys working the dock to ask if _the Oxford_ had made port yet.

"Aye, M'am," the young lad nodded. "She docked just this morning - that's her there," he told them, pointing out to a three-masted galleon sitting at the end of a jetty. There was plenty of bustle on-board, with crates and barrels being unloaded.

Alara gave the boy a coin for his assistance, and then made her way down the pier with Hermione and Draco following close behind. As they came alongside _the Oxford_ , Alara seemed to spot someone familiar to her; she raised her hand to shield her eyes from the sun and called up to the man standing at to the top of gangway, checking loads before they were taken off the ship.

"Ahoy there, Captain!" She called out with a smile, and the man turned to the source of the interruption.

"Lady Alara?" He squinted down, slightly unsure of his unexpected visitor.

"The one and only. Permission to board?" She asked as she stepped onto the gangway and began to move up towards him.

"Would you even listen, if I said no?" the man frowned. A slight Welsh brogue coloured his accent, but it was clear he had been away from the country for some time.

"No," Alara said with a smile, beckoning to Hermione and Draco to follow her.

"It's bad luck to have a woman on board, sir," one of the sailors said, looking at them anxiously, as Alara stepped on deck, closely followed be Hermione and Draco. "Two is flirting with the devil – even though we are at port."

"Superstitious fool," the Captain laughed. "I'll take my chances, I'm not afraid of the devil. You brought friends," he motioned to Hermione and Draco, turning back to Alara.

"Yes," Alara smiled. "May I introduce my cousin, Alaric Malfoy, and his betrothed, the Lady Annamaria Granger. Alaric, Anna, meet Captain Henry Morgan," She introduced.

The pictures on the rum bottles that Hermione had seen back in her own time didn't quite match the man in front of her – for one thing, he wasn't as well put-together, nor as well manicured as the rum bottle would have had her believe. Henry was tall and well built; he had a few layers on today to keep the chill out of his bones, but underneath you could tell the man was muscled and athletic – no doubt captaining a ship kept him in well-conditioned shape. But many months at sea had left him looking rather dishevelled: his hair, a dark brown, was long and windswept, and worn in a leather thong tied at the nape of his neck; his beard was full and thick, though short; and his clothes were plain coloured and salt-stained, though practical to the time.

He called out to one of his shipmates to take over the inventory, and then invited the three of them to join him in his quarters for a drink.

The captain's quarters were generous sized, and well-furnished: There was a good sized table at the centre, that appeared to be used for navigation and bookkeeping, as well as for dining, around which six plush chairs were set. To the rear of the room was a mahogany writing desk, set in front of a pair of doors that opened onto the small balcony at the back of the ship. A pair of window seats were set on either side of the doors, and were invitingly furnished with plush sofa cushions. A pair of doors stood ajar at the left had side of the room, giving a glimpse of Henry's sleeping quarters - modest yet comfortable, the double bed had been left unmade this morning. To the right of the room a single door lead to the Captain's private stores.

"We only docked this morning," Henry explained as he pulled out a bottle and some glasses from a sideboard. "We have yet to replenish our supplies, so I hope you like rum."

He poured a generous measure into each glass and passed them around.

"It's not as coarse as most rum," he mentioned, sounding almost apologetic. "I add spices to it, that tends to soften it a little – makes it a little easier on the tongue."

Hermione turned away under the pretence of examining her surroundings, to hide a smile. But she struggled to contain a laugh at Alara's response:

"That does go down rather nicely. You should put your name to that and sell it - you could make a fortune."

"She's right you know," Hermione grinned slyly, finally taking a seat at the table. "It's the kind of drink that will stand the test of time, I'm sure."

Draco looked across at her with a deadpan expression, to which she responded with a bigger grin and a half-shrug causing Draco to roll his eyes and give a slight shake of his head.

"How long will you be docked?" Alara asked, keeping the conversation flowing.

"Why?" Henry asked shrewdly.

Alara gave an exasperated sigh and rolled her eyes. "It's called polite conversation, it's what we do here on land. Engage in it, please."

"I see you haven't lost your charm over the years," Henry grumbled, but there was a smile lurking at the corners of his mouth that told them he was amused. "TWe'll stay through Twelfth Night, and we'll leave the next morning. Some of my crew have family in the city – I've given them leave to spend some time with them. We very rarely come to the homeland, and it will be a few years until we return again."

Some general conversation ensued; Alara asked about his trading routes, and about their mutual acquaintance in Port Royal where Alara had spent eighteen months a few years ago.

"Have you seen anything of Harriette Peverell recently?" Alara asked eventually, when they were halfway through their rum.

"Yes actually," Henry nodded. "I saw her not six months back. She's in Tortuga, and seems quite settled there for the time being. In no rush to come back north, at any rate."

"Tortuga," Alara repeated thoughtfully. "Not too far from Port Royal, if my memory serves. And you'll be returning to Port Royal when you leave here I imagine."

Henry looked at her shrewdly across the top of his glass, silently contemplating her for a moment. "What do you want?" He asked bluntly.

"She doesn't want anything," Hermione answered, equalling his frankness. "She's just clarifying that we won't be an imposition when we sail with you."

Henry transferred his attention to Hermione, and looked at her with a deadpan expression. "I'm sorry, when _who_ does _what_ now?"

"They're looking for Harrie," Alara explained patiently. "If she's in Tortuga – I know you stop there every now and then, unofficially."

"This isn't a passenger ship," Henry grumbled. "There are no other cabins on board furnished for sleeping; the rest of the sleeping space is the crew quarters below deck."

"That's not a problem; of course we'll sleep with the rest of the crew," Hermione said simply, as though this was obvious.

"With the _rest_ …" Henry started in mild disbelief, his eyebrows raised. He then turned his eyes upon Alara and Alaric. "She expects to sail as part of the crew?"

" _She_ has a name," Hermione reminded him with a frown. "And can speak for herself, thank you very much. Yes, I expect to sail as part of your crew; neither Alaric, nor myself, expect you take us for free – we will do our fair share of the work, in exchange for passage. I can assure you, I will be equal to any task you set me."

Henry looked her up and down, taking in the gown she was wearing. It was another beautiful creation, in a soft periwinkle blue, but it was far from practical if one wished to engage in any form of strenuous manual labour.

"You'll never work a ship wearing that," Henry told her bluntly.

"I quite agree," Hermione assured him. "I'll wear men's clothing the entire time on board. Before long, the rest of your crew will forget I'm even a lady."

"I doubt that very much," Henry scoffed.

"I am not like most women," Hermione reiterated, in all serious now. "I can work a ship; I can be a valuable crew member. I will be just as good as any other man on board – better than some. I'll make a better sailor than him, at any rate – I'd bet money on it," Hermione nodded towards Draco with a smirk.

"Not likely," Draco snorted.

"Five shillings says I'm right," Hermione challenged them. "Against both of you: Five shillings says I exceed your expectations, and make a better crew member than Alaric," She said directly to Henry now.

"You don't have to give us your answer now," Draco offered. "Alara came here to offer an invitation to dinner. Dine with us, get to know us a little better, and then make your decision."

Henry nodded with a sigh. "Alright, I will keep an open mind until we meet again. And when might that be?" He asked Alara.

"How does Tuesday next, suit you?"

"Well," Henry accepted. "I shall wait on you then."

Nothing occurred over the following days to postpone the dining engagement; Henry made good time, and Alara had extended an invitation to a select few of the wealthier merchant families in the area, so they were quite a party when the night came. Henry was in much better spirits this evening, compared to when they had first met. A few days enjoying those comforts that can only be found on land had been enough to eradicate all the taciturn, and Henry was in fine spirits the entire night.

Over dinner, they learnt more about Alara and Henry's acquaintance: they had met briefly many years ago, when Henry was barely eighteen and planning his departure on his grand adventure.

"I was always a restless soul; I'd be damned if I was staying in Wales my whole life, digging roots and taking over the family farm. Not that there's anything wrong with farming," he added hastily. "My family has been farming forever, handing it down father to son for generations. It just wasn't for me – I was the black sheep of the family."

"So he hopped on a ship, broke my heart, and never looked back," Alara joked, and everyone laughed.

"Now now, let's not stretch the truth too far," Henry countered with a grin. "To my memory, you were the one intending to break my heart. Were you not rebelling against your family at that time?"

"Perhaps," Alara admitted coyly. "But I never intended to break your heart – I knew from the start your intentions for adventure were too strong to be thwarted by affections. You had no intention of staying, not for anyone. And besides, we became good friends from it, so all is well."

They hadn't seen each other after Henry's departure until a few years ago, when Alara had taken time away from England after the death of her father. She had sailed to the British colonies in the West Indies, and had spent a fair amount of time in Port Royal, where a mutual acquaintance had brought them together once more. There they frequently met, and renewed their friendship, that had continued to this day.

The fine wines which Alara served throughout the evening helped to loosen Henry's initial reserve; he became much more receptive to Hermione and Draco's conversation over the course of the night, and unbeknownst to them was begin to open up to the consideration of allowing them passage when he returned south. He was one of the last to leave, and the four of them remained in genial conversation into the early hours of the morning.

"Do you have magic too, then?" Henry asked of Draco. "You are Alara's cousin; is it something that runs in the family?"

Draco nodded, but it was Hermione who answered.

"Not always," she countered. "I'm the first in my family to have magic. At least I think I am – the first in many generations at any rate."

It was strange to them, being able to talk openly about magic in front of a Muggle, but it had been stranger when Alara had whipped her wand out an hour earlier to refill their glasses. With the Statute of Secrecy not having been brought into being yet, it was not uncommon for Witches and Wizards to use magic in front of Muggles. However, since Cromwell's attempted reform and the rise of the Puritans, there had been an increase in fear and persecution of witchcraft and those found guilty of it. As such, many Witches and Wizards were now cautious with whom they exposed their magic too. Henry, however, seemed to be worthy of their trust.

"And you all went to the same school in Scotland?"

"The only school for witchcraft worth going to," Alara said proudly. "The Malfoys have been going for generations, stoic Slytherins all of us."

"Slytherins? Is that the name of the school?" Henry asked, looking unsure at the name.

"One of the founders of the school," Alara explained. "Students are sorted into one of four houses upon starting, the houses are named after the founders of the school – the Malfoys are always sorted into Slytherin."

"I, myself, am a Gryffindor," Hermione smiled.

"Hmmm, should have known," Alara commented, sounding vaguely insulting, but good natured all the same.

Hermione frowned at her, but smiled also.

Henry was thoughtful for a moment, and then sighed before draining his glass and setting in on the low table. He rose to take his leave, and the others followed suit.

"Not everyone is as accepting of Magic as I am," Henry said carefully. "There are some of my crew who are a little more Puritan than the rest, shall we say. So you might want to be careful with what magic you do on ship."

"What?" Hermione said warily.

"I'm taking you up on your bet," He told her with a grin.

"My bet?" Hermione repeated, a small smile starting to form.

"Five shillings, wasn't it? That you would surprise me? You will come on as part of the crew, and I will expect you to work for your passage. If you sail with me, you will do as I say, but if you don't pull your weight – the moment you start becoming more trouble than you're worth – I will drop you at the first port we come to and never look back. And you will owe me five shillings," he added as an afterthought.

"That sounds fair to me," Draco grinned, and held out his hand to shake on a deal.

"I accept those terms, Captain," Hermione seconded, and also held out her hand.

Their month in town was passing quickly, and soon Christmas Eve was upon them. They spent the day at White Hall, where Charles was celebrating in his usual exuberant style. They feasted and revelled from luncheon into the night. A hired troupe of performers entertained the courtiers with the tale of the Holly King and the Oak King and their battle for dominance. It was a fantastical piece, full of fairies and imps, and the battle between night and day. Just as it seemed that the Holly King reigned supreme, and the longest night overpowered day, the Oak King fought back from the brink of defeat, and the curtain closed on the dawning of a new day.

Alara, Draco, and Hermione left the celebrations early into the night, returning along the Thames to Alara's house. Although it had been full dark for hours now, it was not yet so late that it was a new day. They made it home in time for a late supper, and to warm themselves by the fire in the drawing room, before the clock had even struck eleven.

Not long after supper, Alara retired for the night leaving the others reposed by the fire with their books. Draco was ensconced in a winged armchair, looking thoroughly relaxed with his left ankle resting on his right knee and using his bent left leg as a perch for his book. Hermione was reclined on the love seat opposite him, leaning against pillows to her side, with her legs tucked up underneath her. Her own book laid open in front of her. The room was peaceful at this time, the house quiet as most of the inhabitants had turned in for the night; only the logs crackling on the fire, and the occasional rustle of a gently turned page, disturbed the silence.

Hermione had ceased reading some minutes ago and was now staring thoughtfully into the flames. She unwittingly gave a heavy sigh, which caused Draco to look up quietly from his page. He watched her for a moment, and a crease formed on his brow – there was a sadness about her as she gazed unseeingly into the fire.

"Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house

Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse;

The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,

In the hopes that St Nicolas soon would be there," Hermione recited quietly.

"What's that?" Draco asked, unable to keep his curiosity quiet. Hermione looked up at him, slightly surprised as though she had forgotten about his presence.

"A poem," she smiled, though she still looked melancholy. "On my first Christmas, my parents bought me a book, it was an illustrated version of that poem. It had little windows and flaps to open and reveal little pictures that went with the poem, and it had these clever little tabs that when you moved them it would change the illustration to reflect the next verse," Hermione reminisced. "We would read it every year, it became a tradition: Every Christmas Eve we sit in front of the fire, with cups of tea, under a blanket, and read that book together. The only years we didn't were the ones where I spent Christmas at Hogwarts. And now this one," she added in a whisper as she turned back to the fire.

"It's an old poem," Hermione continued after a second. "Yet it hasn't even been written yet. My parents haven't been born yet; no one we know has. Everyone we know and love – they don't exist. We are all alone."

Silence settled over them, only broken when the clock began to chime the first stokes of midnight. Hermione closed her book with a heavy sigh, and rose from her seat.

"I think it's time to call it a night."

Draco shifted his seat; he planted both feet back on the floor and leaned forward from his chair. He gently caught up Hermione's hand as she moved past him.

"Are you alright?" he asked with genuine concern.

"I don't know," Hermione answered honestly. "I mean, what good does it do if I'm not? There is nothing more we can be doing that we haven't already done to find our way home. And if it doesn't work…"

"It _will_ work," Draco soothed, unconsciously rubbing his thumb over the back of her hand in a comforting way.

"You can't know that," Hermione reasoned. "But if it doesn't work – if we are stuck here, there is no point to wallowing. We will just have to make peace with the fact that this is our new home."

"Well enjoy it while it lasts," Draco countered with a smile. "Because we will find our way home; we will be back to our own time soon enough, I'm sure."

Hermione smiled gratefully at his reassurance. "I'm sorry, I'm just tired. I'll be better in the morning, I promise."

"No apology necessary. Goodnight then," he smiled and lightly pressed a brief kiss on the back of her hand. "Sleep well, Anna."

"Goodnight Alaric," Hermione smiled back, her hand slipping from his as she walked away.

They had been calling each other by their aliases for long enough now that their pseudonyms rolled effortlessly off their tongues, as if they had used these names since birth.

Christmas day was a quiet family affair for the most part: Alara, Hermione, and Draco rose early to attend a Christmas service in the family chapel before breakfast. Although neither Hermione nor Draco were particularly religious, they willingly submitted to the tradition of the times. They spent the morning in the drawing room adding decorations to the Christmas tree, including enchanted baubles and setting loose a number of fairies to flutter through the branches. They didn't eat lunch, instead they had a magnificent Christmas feast later in the afternoon. The centrepiece to the feast was a boar's head, cooked and decorated with a lemon in his mouth. Hermione couldn't quite see the appeal, but apparently it was a festive tradition that the richer members of society tended to follow.

Christmas celebrations continued all the way through to Twelfth Night. Every day included a feast and a party; some days they joined Charles and his court at White Hall, and on others Alara entertained various members of society in her own home. At every party which Alara hosted Henry Morgan was always invited, he attended most of them and before long Hermione and Draco were well on their way to being good friends with the Captain.

Another part of the custom that differed to what Hermione and Draco were familiar with was the giving of gifts at New Year, as opposed to on Christmas Day. The first day of January was therefore another family affair, and spent at home. The three of them breakfasted at their usual time, and then spent the morning in the family drawing room, exchanging gifts on the rug by the hearth, basking in the warmth of the fire.

Alara's gifts to them were of a practical sort: She presented Hermione with her clothing more suitable for her upcoming adventures. It was a full outfit of men's breeches and coat, with a white shirt, that had all been tailored to fit a woman's curves.

"Henry did say you would need an alternative wardrobe for on board, I thought these would be a good start," Alara smiled.

"They're perfect, thank you,"

"After luncheon we can try them on, make sure they fit properly, and perhaps create some duplicates," Alara suggested, to which Hermione nodded with a grin.

Alara's gift to Draco was a luxurious leather bound journal, along with a handsome eagle feather quill and a pot of refillable ink.

"I thought this little adventure of yours, that you've stumbled into, might be something you would like to document, in the Malfoy way," She smiled, before expanding her explanation a little for Hermione's benefit. "Journaling is a bit of a Malfoy pastime, that has apparently survived the generations. They're all enchanted to withstand the test of time, and of course they're impervious to water," she added, turning back to Draco. I have one more gift for you, for both of you, which I think will be useful in your journeys from here."

Alara handed them a palm sized, sturdy, mahogany box, which hung from a think leather cord. Draco lifted the lid, as Hermione peered over his shoulder, to reveal a compass whose needle was spinning madly as though North was nowhere to be found. The face of the compass was also off kilter, and unfixed unlike a regular compass; instead of sitting square at the top, North was currently positioned at the bottom left hand corner, and when Draco moved the box North continued to re-position itself so that it was pointing to Draco's left side.

"I enchanted it myself," Alara explained. "The needle doesn't point North, like an ordinary compass. The dial will always position itself to show the correct directions – North will always point to North, South will always point to South – but the needle will always point to wherever, or whatever, you want to find. You just have to think of it, ask the compass with your mind, and it will direct the holder to what they seek."

"This is amazing," Hermione breathed, taking the compass from Draco. She began to think of random things and places, watching in fascination as the compass pointed in various directions – White Hall was somewhere West North West of her current position, but the best wine in the house was stored somewhere to the South East.

"Well, if one of us ever gets captured, or lost, at least we know the other can find and rescue us," Hermione joked.

"What if the person who gets captured is the one with the compass?" Draco smirked.

"Then you'll be able to find the way to escape," Hermione grinned back at him.

"Wait, 'you'?" Draco repeated back to her with a frown. "Why am I the one being taken?"

"Because you're more hot-headed, and more likely to get into that kind of situation than I am."

"Henry has one like it," Alara continued, to stop the playful banter before it escalated as she had seen it do on occasion. "But I thought it would be beneficial for you to have one of your own, as I don't imagine you will continue to sail with him once you find Harriette."

* * *

 _ **A/N: Thanks for reading! It's been a little bit of a slow burner so far, but we're now getting to the real adventures of the story and I'm really excited to start properly writing, and fleshing out, the next parts of the story :)**_

 _ **I'll hopefully post again soon, thanks again for reading**_

 _ **xBx**_


	6. Chapter 6

_**A/N: Apologies for the delay! work and life is getting super crazy, but I am still persevering. I will not stop until this is finished.**_

 _ **Thank you to everyone who has read so far, and thanks for all my reviews! I really appreciate the feedback :) Enjoy the next chapter**_

* * *

 **Chapter VI**

On the morning of January sixth, Hermione was in a tumult of emotions as she dressed; excitement, wariness, and trepidation were swirling inside her, tinged with the slightest of melancholy at the upcoming farewells. They had been here for three months now, and in that time Hermione had grown very fond of Alara – a feeling that was quite clearly mutual. But despite the almost sisterly affection she was coming to feel, she was also excited to begin the next part of their adventure; she was beginning to feel they had been frivolously idle for too long, and Hermione was ready to start making her way home. Albeit, in a very roundabout way.

Hermione's clothing was extremely plain compared to what she had become used to: She wore black pants that, although they were loose, flowed with the shape of her thighs, and bunched just below the knee. Her tailored coat was a dark tan – she had two more in her pack, one navy, the other crimson. Alara had insisted on her having something bright in her limited wardrobe, but Hermione thought they would perhaps be a bit too ostentatious for her first days on board. The shirt she wore underneath was white and was fitted to her form, over it she wore a modified corset that she, Alara, and the housemaid Sarah, had worked up together. Since being here, Hermione had gotten used to the restrictiveness of the undergarments of the time, and now found them comforting rather than burdensome. However, the standard corset, that held her from her breasts to down over her hips, was far too restricting for the activities she was intending to engage, although going without made her feel almost naked. And so, the three women had come up with an alternative corset, that would sit on top the shirt, similar to a gentleman's waistcoat. It was worn looser than normal, to allow more movement while still holding things in place, and it was also smaller: it sat around Hermione's mid-riff, cut to follow the curve the hips as opposed to covering them, and stopped just below the breasts, once again curving around and cupping around to offer support without restriction. When the style and fit had been perfected they had fashioned this new corset to better fit an outer garment, adjusting the colour and fabric so it was more reminiscent of a costume corset. Today she wore it in black, but she also had a crimson one in her pack. To finish, she wore black leather boots, that fit snug up her calf, lacing up along the back and coming to a cuff just below the knee. Her hair she magicked into a simple, tight, braid that curled over her right shoulder, keeping her curls in check and out of the way.

Finally dressed, she stowed her wand in her coat, pulled her pack over her shoulder, and descended to the breakfast room. The sense of exhilaration surged, with the knowledge that they were finally physically embarking on their journey to find a way back to their own time. But the feeling of sadness returned when she entered the breakfast room and took a seat beside Alara for what was most likely the final time.

At Hermione's entrance, Draco couldn't help but give an appreciative once-over of her attire; the look suited her greatly, and the tailoring of the clothes were a perfect fit to her body. They were dressed similarly – the only real difference being his lack of a corset – but there was no doubt in his mind that Hermione looked better in the costume than he did.

Breakfast was an almost sombre affair, though no one wanted to let that show. Soon enough, the final goodbye was upon them: Draco and Hermione made their way down the private jetty at the back of the estate, to take a boat down river to Billingsgate Dock, where Captain Morgan would be waiting. Alara came down with them, to say goodbye at the riverside.

"Give this to Harrie, when you see her," Alara instructed, placing a scroll in Hermione's hands. "I'll send her an owl of course, telling her to expect you, but this has more information I would not trust sending by owl post."

"I will make sure it is read by no one, but her," Hermione smiled, before embracing Alara. "Thank you for everything you have done for us, since we arrived."

"It has been my pleasure," Alara smiled feelingly. "Enjoy your adventure, and if you happen to return to England before you return home, there will always be a place for you here."

Alara then said her goodbyes to Draco, whispering something to him that Hermione couldn't hear but that made Draco frown in confusion for a moment. Alara simply responded with a knowing smirk, and then sent them both off down river into the unknown with only general words of farewell.

Billingsgate docs were a hive of activity as they sailed in, and _the Oxford_ was already in early bustle of a trader preparing to depart. Hermione and Draco received a few interested glances as they made their way up the gangway, in between the barrels being rolled up onto deck, where they presented themselves to Henry who was stood by the open cargo-hold, overseeing the loading.

Henry gave Hermione a quick look up and down as she and Draco approached, and was unable to hold back a partly amused, partly exasperated, laugh.

"Well, it's more practical than a dress, I'll give you that," Henry chuckled in lieu of a greeting, and Hermione frowned.

"What's wrong with what I'm wearing?" Hermione defended. "I'm dressed like a man-"

"You are not dressed like a man," Henry interrupted laughingly. "You may be wearing men's clothes, but you are not dressed like a man. My crew are a credible, and gentlemanlike, sort for the most part, but even so - Thompson!" He called out, before Hermione could argue more, or question his final remark.

A young lad, who looked to be about fifteen, came over to them. He did a bit of a double-take when he saw Hermione, realising upon closer inspection that she was a woman, but he never said anything about the oddity.

"This is Alaric Malfoy, and Anamaria Granger, they'll be joining us for the voyage. Show them to the crew's quarters, please," Henry directed the lad, before turning back to Hermione and Draco. "Grab a bed, stow your packs, then return to deck to help with the loading."

Before the others could respond Henry turned back to the barrels, a large pile now gathered on the netting, and began directing their hoisting and moving down into the cargo hold. Hermione and Draco followed young Thompson in silence, below decks and down into the crew quarters. The crew quarters took up most of the lower deck to the stern: there were a few berths along the side of room, built up against the side of the ship, but most beds appeared to be hammocks slung across the room. Hermione managed to nab one of the last remaining free bunks, and claimed it as her own by stowing her pack in the netted hold-all tacked to the wall next to the mattress. She frowned, however, when Draco crammed his own pack in with hers.

"What are you doing?" Hermione demanded. "Get your own bunk."

"No," Draco said simply and quietly. On their way below decks, while Hermione had seemed to be oblivious to the looks she received, Draco had not been. Although Henry had commented about his crew being gentlemanly, the looks in some of their eyes as they watched Hermione pass had hinted at thoughts that were anything but.

"No?" Hermione repeated, her eyebrows raised. "This is a single bed, barely big enough for one. When we first got here, you bitched about sharing a bed big enough for at least half a dozen people with room to spare. Why the sudden need to cosy up?"

"Not now," Draco said carefully and quietly, in sombre seriousness. Hermione frowned at him, slightly concerned.

"Alaric, what…?" She started, but Draco shook his head and interrupted her.

"We're betrothed, we'll share a bunk," he persisted quietly. "End of discussion."

Hermione let it drop; he had that stubborn set to his jaw and glint in his eye that meant this was something he would never be backing down from, at least not right now.

"Malfoy," Henry called out when he saw them back on deck. "There are still more barrels that need rolling up, jump down and help with that. Granger, these crates here-" he indicated to the collection gathered off to his right, "-need taking into my quarters, and putting into my private stores. Here," he tossed her a key from his belt. "I'll want that back when you're done."

Hermione nodded and turned to the pile he had pointed out. Casting a wary glance around to make sure everyone was too busy to pay her any mind, she surreptitiously took out her wand and quickly enchanted the crates to feel feather light. Ever vigilant, Henry had spotted the movement out of the corner of his eye, and when he saw Hermione lift one of the heavier ones with ease he chuckled.

"At least try to feign some exertion," he joked to her. "They are supposed to be heavy, after all."

"Relax," Hermione smirked back. "It's not like I'm carrying one under each arm."

It took another hour to finish loading and securing the cargo, and then the real work began. On the journey from Alara's, the bitter cold of an English January morning had settled into their bones, their coats doing little to keep the chills at bay, and by the time they had reached _the Oxford_ their fingers and toes were numb. But the manual labour of the last hour had helped to bring some feeling back, their chill had begun to thaw, and the next few hours made them forget about the cold altogether.

No one was ever still for a moment; everyone had their job to do as the crew prepared the vessel for departure and they began to pull out from their dock. Captain Morgan was at the helm, keeping course, and shouting orders, which were then shouted down from man to man across the deck.

At first it was a confusing din, as their shouting and orders mingled with those of other crews along the docks, but Hermione and Draco soon managed to block out the other ships' ruckus and focus solely on the commands coming from aboard their own.

The raising of the anchor was a mammoth task, which took several crew to coordinate, while the rest climbed up the rigging to release the sails. When the anchor was secured, those on deck moved in to take up the halyards and begin hoisting the sails into position.

The tide and the wind eased the galleon into motion, and by noon they were edging along the Thames at a steady pace. They had barely got going when the entire crew seemed to slow in their movements. When Hermione looked out over to the port side, she began to understand why.

They were sailing past gallows set on the riverbank, where three hanged men, in various stages of decay, were swaying softly in the breeze. The creak of the rope, and the soft clink of the frozen corpses made when they knocked together, carried over to the ship, despite the other sounds of day-to-day life on the Thames.

"Prospect of Whitby execution dock," one of the crew explained to her and Draco. "Named for the public house there. Pirates, smugglers, and mutineers – that's who they hand here. Left out as a reminder to us all of what will befall us if we stray too far off-course."

There was something in his voice, and his quick glance at the captain, that made Hermione confident that Henry had already started crossing that fine line between privateer and buccaneer. Hermione never said a word, but a chill crept down her spine that had nothing to do with the winter frost; she was suddenly very aware of just how dangerous this adventure of theirs could potentially turn out to be. One misstep – one case of mistaken identity, in the wrong place at the wrong time – and that could be her body swinging in the breeze.

"You see it a lot around the ports in the Caribbean," the sailor – Hermione was yet to learn his name – was saying, oblivious to her chilling realisation. "At least here they're frozen so the smell doesn't get to you." He gave an involuntary shiver at the memory of the said aroma, before moving off to secure a rope that had come loose.

Meandering out of the Thames was a long and arduous process that took all the daylight. As dusk began to settle, lanterns were lit all around the deck, as well as below, and the Captain's cabin was illuminated by flickering candlelight. Hermione was then given the command to assist the ships cook, Billy Peterson, down in the galley to prepare tonight's supper. While this job did not particularly suit her taste, she didn't argue and went below decks without a fuss, where she was given the mundane task of peeling potatoes. She picked up the small knife slightly disgruntled – this would be so much easier and quicker with a wand but, given Henry's warning over Christmas, Hermione didn't want to risk doing magic in front of muggles despite the fact she was slowly getting used to living without the restrictions of the Statute of Secrecy.

Meanwhile, Draco remained on deck. The Thames was beginning to widen out now, as they began entering the estuary, which made manoeuvring through the traffic slightly easier. Once out to sea, Henry relinquished the helm to another member of the crew, who kept a handful of men to assist with the navigations, but the rest were now free to move below and partake in supper.

The atmosphere among the crew shifted now; the hardest part of the day was done, and people began to relax into a slower routine. As of yet, Hermione and Draco were still unknown members of the crew, and so the dinner conversation was mainly a myriad of questions directed primarily to Draco. Hermione tried her best to force herself into the conversation, but she could tell many were uncomfortable having a woman on board – being accepted into the crew was going to be an uphill battle it would seem.

There was more work to be done after supper, but it was more relaxed than before. The crew began to settle back for the night; small groups formed and the later hours passed by playing games of dice and cards, and drinking rum or hot wine to keep the chills at bay.

Hermione and Draco were the first to return below decks, both were too exhausted to talk and the chill was starting to creep back into their bones. Hermione removed her coat and hung it on the post at the head of the berth. She removed her wand from its pocket and placed it under the pillow, before removing her corset with a satisfying sigh, kicking of her boots, and climbing under the blanket to seek a respite from the cold. She was too tired to protest when Draco motioned for her to move over and make room for him to join her, his body heat a welcome addition against the winter chill. There were a few moments of awkward fidgeting, accompanied by the odd dissatisfied grunt, before Draco finally spoke with a defeated sigh.

"There really isn't room for us to sleep like this."

"Told you so," Hermione smirked. "Get your own bed."

"No," Draco remained stubborn. "We'll spoon – you be little spoon. It's the only way we're both going to get some sleep."

Hermione sighed, but acquiesced. Draco had that tone that meant he wasn't going to change his mind, and Hermione was too tired to argue, not to mention appreciative of the warmth he was providing. She rolled to her left and Draco sidled up behind her, more awkward fidgeting ensued as Draco tried to get comfy with his left arm sandwiched between them. He tentatively put his right arm over Hermione, effectively hugging her to him.

"Sorry," he mumbled awkwardly. "Is this ok?"

"It's fine," Hermione said, trying not to laugh at his sudden uneasiness, as she shuffled to fit comfortably into him. "Your ice-cold feet on mine, however, is not."

"They'll warm up in five minutes," Draco defended, sounding more normal as they quickly descended back into their usual bickering.

"Yeah, only because you will have drained my warmth," Hermione countered. "And are you going to explain now? Why you were so adamant about sharing a tiny bed?"

Draco was thoughtful for a moment, and then gave a long sigh.

"You didn't see the way the crew were looking at you all day," he started carefully. "I know Morgan said they're a gentlemanly lot, but from the looks in their eyes I can assure you the thoughts they were having about you were certainly not gentlemanly, and very far from honourable."

Hermione laughed and rolled her eyes. "Honestly, they've just spent a month on dry land – no doubt they've spent almost every night in a brothel. I'm certain many, if not all, of their dishonourable urges have been well taken care of."

"Exactly!" Draco hissed. "Which means they've become accustomed to have those urges tended to on a regular basis, and now they are going without. They boarded this morning with the idea they would be going days, weeks, months even, without the possibility of a woman to enjoy. And then they discover there is a woman on board – a very attractive woman,"

"I can take care of myself," Hermione interrupted, ignoring the urge to tease him about finding her attractive.

"I know you can," Draco soothed. "I am well aware of just how capable you are of defending yourself – that's not the point. The point is, you shouldn't have to. I'm not doing this because I think you _can't_ take care of yourself, I'm doing this to prevent you from _needing_ to. And anyway, if tomorrow is going to be anything like today, then we are going to need to be fully rested. We need a good night's sleep – something neither of us will get if we're both half-awake all night making sure no one tries anything…dishonourable."

They were both quiet then; Draco had nothing more to say on the matter, and Hermione was a little uncertain on how to respond. They had become fairly protective of each other during their years as partners, but this seemed different somehow - as if there was more than simple comradery at play, like they were edging closer to crossing some sort of line that would leave friendship behind; toying with the line between the fact and fiction of their cover story of why they travelled together. And this wasn't entirely a new sensation; ever since they had begun to settle into this time, since they had been travelling to London with Alara and King Charles, there had been a sense that their dynamic had been slowly shifting.

Hermione sighed, and gently settled back against Draco as she began to relax into sleep, the last of the tension leaving her body. She moved a hand to rest on his that was wrapped around her, giving him a gentle hug.

"Thank you," She whispered, with a small smile. "Thank you for defending my honour – not that I need it, but thank you."

Draco smiled into her hair, "goodnight, Annamaria."

They were awoken next morning by the ringing of a bell, calling all crew to attention, before the sun had even risen.

Hermione made a disgruntled groan and instinctively huddled closer to the source of warmth, before she fully realised what that source was. Draco made a similar disgruntled noise, and instinctively tightened his arms around Hermione as she huddled closer. During the night, they had shifted in the sleep and were now facing each other, legs entwined and huddled close.

"It's the middle of the night," Draco grumbled.

"I think it's nearer dawn," Hermione countered.

"It's dark."

"Yes," Hermione agreed. "And cold."

There was a moment of silence, as the final vestiges of sleep left them and a sudden awareness of their current position dawned upon them. Both tensed slightly, and each felt the other's response which only heightened the sense of awkwardness. They slowly began to disentangle themselves from each other, until Draco suddenly froze.

"We're moving a lot," he realised, sounding uncomfortable in a way that had nothing to do with their sleeping position and Hermione looked up at him with a frown.

"We're sailing - please don't tell me you get seasick," she said warily.

"Ok," he said carefully. "I won't."

"Time to get up," Hermione said suddenly, losing any sense of lingering awkwardness and nudging Draco towards the edge of their berth, praying he wouldn't vomit all over her. She softened slightly as a sudden lurch of the ship made Draco pale even more. "You'll feel better once you get up on deck – fresh air and open space, it will help a lot."

It turned out that getting up on deck didn't make Draco feel any better; they were sailing through the heart of the English Channel, and progress was being hampered by the onset of a winter storm. They had slept through the beginnings of it, but now that they were awake the not so gentle rolling of the ship as it was tossed about on the waves was starting to take its toll on some of the newer sailors.

Draco rallied for a while when the first hit of cold wind and rainy mist cooled and refreshed him. He responded to the shouts from the crew, and assisted with the tightening and releasing of various lines as they tried to keep a steady course amidst the tempest. Not long after dawn, however, he made his way toward the stern where one of the youngest boys, on his first sail, was also feeling the effects of the storm and was currently experiencing lasts night's meal in reverse.

Hermione watched him go with a mixture of sympathy and amusement, but didn't follow; the winds were picking up, the rain becoming a torrent, and the swells were steadily worsening, tossing the ship with a ferocity that even made some of the more experienced sailors pale for a moment. Most all hands were needed on deck, but she was soon sent below decks to assist with re-securing the cargo loads, a task she wasn't overly-overjoyed with as going back below would make the seasickness, she had begun to feel, a whole lot worse. But she was in no position to argue; as a new crew member, not to mention a woman, she had a lot to prove and was determined to do everything she was asked to do.

By the time she returned to the deck, she was considerably paler than before but had so far managed not to be physically sick, and the cold wind helped revitalise her a little. The winds had eased and the rain had reduced from a torrent to gentle patter, but the sea was still rough.

Hermione looked about for Draco, and found him still leaning over the side of the ship, his complexion greener and sallower than it had been at dawn. She came to stand beside him and leaned back nonchalantly against the railing, as he took a series of deep breaths.

"You do not look good."

"You don't need to sound so amused," Draco croaked.

"I'm sorry, you're right, it's not funny," She consoled him, while trying to stop from smiling. "You just need to find your sea legs; and this is quite rough weather – you're not the only one feeling squeamish."

"How are _you_ not squeamish?"

"My uncle has a tall ship – nothing compared to this of course, much smaller. But I spent almost every summer out on the water growing up. I missed a few trips during Hogwarts when I started spending the holidays with Harry and Ron, but I got back out there over the last few years. I'm used to it. But days like this still makes my stomach churn sometimes," she informed him.

The ship gave a sudden lurch as they hit a particularly big swell, causing Draco to groan and lean further over the side. Hermione patted his arm sympathetically, waiting for her own wave of nausea to pass before speaking.

"Is there a spell to help with this? Please tell me you know a spell," Draco begged, and Hermione tried not to laugh.

"There is no spell, but I'm certain there is a potion. When we next make port, I'll find an apothecary and I will get you the potion. And the ingredients, so we can make more if we need it," She added as an afterthought.

"You don't even know where we're going to dock, how are you going to find the magical quarter?" Draco argued. It seemed illness made him petulant.

Hermione thought for a second, and then smirked when her eyes alighted upon the compass hanging at his waist.

"With this," she declared, snatching up the compass, and swinging it teasingly in front of him. "It will point me in the right direction. I'll take it now, and keep it with me - It seems I'll have more use for it."

"Why do you get it? Who says you'll use it more than me?" Draco sulked.

"Because the only direction you need to be concerned with right now, is the best one in which to vomit," Hermione said bluntly. "And that's pretty much self-explanatory."

Draco looked at her with as much as a deadpan expression as he could while trying to swallow down the urge to vomit. "I hate you."

"No, you don't," Hermione laughed, and pushed herself off from the railing. "The worst is over now, you'll feel better in no time," she called over her shoulder as she moved off to offer her services wherever they might be needed.

The storm abated by the middle of the afternoon, and although the waves were still a little higher than normal, it was relatively smooth sailing for the rest of the day. Come sundown, Hermione was once more sent below to assist Peterson with dinner preparations, something she hoped was not going to become a regularity.

Once out into the Celtic Sea, they steered a course down into the Bay of Biscay towards their first port of call. It took another full day and night before they laid anchor down in Bilbao, in the early dawn.

They only spent a day here, and so almost all remained on board throughout the night so that they could be ready to depart at first light. The day at port was as much of a bustle as that first morning back in London, with cargo to be unloaded for sale and trade, and further cargo to be loaded as well as their provisions to be topped up. This was to be their shortest voyage, from here on out they would be at sea for weeks, potentially months at a time, as they made their way further south before heading out across the Atlantic and into the Caribbean.

The further south they travelled, the milder and longer the days became. Draco was no longer seasick – he was slowly becoming accustomed to the rolling of the deck, and on those slightly rougher days he cured his nausea with the promised potion Hermine had managed to track down in Bilbao. Once they were out in open water, keeping course was relatively easy, which resulted in much more down time for the crew; Hermione was slowly getting to know her companions, and the more they saw her work, they began to respect her more and distrust her less.

Captain Morgan, however, was a little harder to win over. So far, he had had her down in the galley every day – morning and evening – assisting with preparing breakfast and supper. If she had an affinity for cooking, Hermione wouldn't have minded, but she took little enjoyment form the pastime, and couldn't help but be annoyed as every other crew member seemed to rotate through kitchen duties.

"Granger!" Henry called her over from where she had been hoisting up buckets of water. Hermione pulled the bucket up over the rail and handed it off to Thompson. She moved off to see what the Captain needed of her.

"We haven't had much conversation since London," Henry noted.

"No sir," Hermione agreed. Henry usually ate in his cabin, and spent most of his evenings in there with his first-mate, William Shaw, going over the headings, or going over the accounts and stores with Jack Cotter, the ship's purser. As such, he didn't often drink and gamble with the crew.

"Are you settling into the crew well? – you seem to be adapting to life on board fairly well."

"Would you say I'm exceeding your expectations?" Hermione grinned, remembering their wager. Henry narrowed his eyes ever so slightly, but the corners of his mouth were tugging up into a reluctant smile that he tried desperately to hide. Hermione laughed.

"This is not my first time on a ship," Hermione admitted to him.

"So it would seem," Henry agreed. "It will be coming close to sunset soon, in an hour you will need to go below to give Peterson your assistance-"

"No," Hermione said before she could stop herself. "I mean no disrespect, Captain, but I am the only other member of the crew who is given this duty every damn day. I don't mind rotating in and doing my share, but please don't send me back down there again for at least a week! Just because I'm a woman, you think I should be in the kitchen? I hate the kitchen, I despise cooking. I am much more capable of any other task you could give me."

There was a moment of silence; those closest to her looked on warily, wondering how the Captain would take this act of insubordination. Hermione swallowed nervously, realising she may have overstepped the mark greatly, and suddenly remembered Henry's warning of what should happen if she proved to be more trouble than she was worth.

"Please?" she added sweetly, hoping to make her rant seem less obstinate.

"You want something else to do? Fine," Henry spoke calmly after a while. "Why don't you go and relieve Anderson."

"I would be happy to," Hermione said with a relieved smile. She started to turn, and then stopped. "Just one question, where will I find Anderson?"

Henry gave a tiny, almost playful smile. "The crow's nest."

"Excellent," Hermione continued to smile, masking her sudden nerves.

She turned away and strode purposefully towards the tallest mast, where she lithely bounded onto the rigging and clambered up towards the crow's nest. She had watched in awe a few times, when she had seen others of the crew taking up their lookout position, and she prayed she was making her ascent look just as effortless.

"You didn't think she'd do it, did you?" Shaw said to Henry as they watched her climb steadily to the top, never looking down.

"I wasn't sure," Henry admitted. "But I thought she might have at least protested. Or fainted halfway up. She's surprisingly more cable than I anticipated. And stubborn. I'll admit, I'm surprised and impressed. She has exceeded my expectations," he muttered. "Damn."

Hermione didn't look down the entire climb, and while the dizzying height was causing her stomach to churn ever so slightly, the views from up on high made any discomfort more than worth it.

"What are you doing up here?" Jon Anderson asked, clearly perplexed. He was one of the younger ones, around Hermione's age, and had been one of the first to accept Hermione as another crew member. He had begun spending a fair amount of their down time with Hermione and Draco, and they were on the way to becoming very good friends.

"I'm here to relieve you."

Jon looked at her shrewdly for a moment, and then his face cracked into a wide grin.

"What did you do?" he teased her, as he helped her into the nest.

"Nothing!" Hermione defended. "What makes you think I did anything?"

"I'm on lookout until dusk, when Charlie was supposed to relieve me. Henry wouldn't have sent you up here, unless he was trying to make a point."

"I may have refused to do something," Hermione admitted, causing Jon to give a bark of laughter.

"No one tells the Captain 'no'."

"Well, I just did," Hermione countered. "Very respectfully of course. But I refused to spend another night cooking – I hate cooking. I think he sent me up here with the idea I wouldn't even make it a third of the way up."

"Well, you proved him wrong."

"Yes, I did. I don't know when I'll be allowed down though. Or how to get down, come to think it," Hermione frowned.

"Watch and learn," Jon grinned, handing her a spyglass before swinging over into the rigging. "Enjoy the view!"

Hermione watched carefully, taking notes as he swung himself down using the ropes knowing she would have to attempt a similar feat in a few hours' time. She then sighed and settled in for the long haul.

The sounds of a working ship were a relaxing hum from up here, and the view was beyond anything she had ever experienced: the ocean stretched out before her to the ends of the earth in every direction. She had never felt so small, but it was in the best way possible. They were currently sailing west and so she had a spectacular view of the sunset they were sailing into; Hermione had seen a fair few beautiful sunsets on the voyage so far, but viewing from up high was certainly the best way to view it. She smiled watching the sun sink lower, bathing the horizon in a fiery golden glow, that slowly burned redder as the sky behind her blackened and the stars began to shine. Light began to flicker from below as the ship's lanterns were lit, and a serene sense of contentment settled over her; she was determined to find her way home, but if in the end they didn't succeed, she could think of many worse places to live out the rest of her life.


	7. Chapter 7

_**A/N: Hello everyone! Sorry for the late update, I really am trying to update more regularly but work is crazy at the minute - the joys of being an adult haha. But here is the next chapter. I hope you enjoy it.**_

 _ **Thanks for all the reads and reviews so far, you guys are awesome!**_

 _ **xBx**_

* * *

 **Chapter VII**

Hermione was relieved from the crow's nest not long after the sun had set; her descent to the deck was nowhere near as smooth as Anderson's had been, but she managed to land on her two feet at least. Henry was waiting for her at the foot of the mast. He didn't say anything, but held out his hand, fist clenched around something. Hermione looked at him in confusion, but still he didn't speak. He simply motioned with his closed fist that he had something to give her. Equally silent, Hermione held out a hand and Henry dropped five shillings into her open palm. Hermione grinned, but Henry turned and walked away before she could say anything.

From that day, Henry took more of an interest in Hermione, and likewise Draco since they were never far from each other's sides, and he was soon reminded as to why he had agreed to bring them along in the first place. Every now and then, Hermione and Draco would be invited to drink with the captain in his cabin. At first, the conversation was general, but one evening when the table was scattered with maps and charts, Hermione took an adamant interest and Henry began teaching them the finer points of navigation and course plotting.

After a couple of months at sea, sailing in an out of half a dozen ports, Hermione and Draco had finally earnt their place as accepted and respected members of the crew. They were beginning to know the others on an equal level; they were no longer regarded as the highborn runaways they were pretending to be, now they were merchant sailors and privateers just like the rest. There was a comradery and trust among them now, that meant Hermione had no qualms at sleeping alone which began to happen more often as both were expected to take night shifts from time to time, which meant they were now catching sleep at different times.

On one of Draco's first night shifts he had drawn the short straw, and had spent the night up in the crow's nest. Come dawn, Hermione decided not to breakfast with the other crew below decks, instead she brought a healthy portion of bread and porridge to share with Draco up on deck. It took her a few moments to locate him, but eventually she spotted him swinging his way down from up on high.

"Good morning, sailor!" Hermione called out cheerily, as Draco landed smoothly on deck.

"Morning," he smiled back, sleepily. "Don't you look fancy, today. What's the occasion?" He asked with a smirk. Hermione was wearing her blue coat for the first time; until now she had continued with the brown.

"Truthfully, I have got about as much wear out of the brown one as I can for now – there are only so many cleaning charms one can use. It is in dire need of a physical wash, so I'm going blue for a while. I brought breakfast," she smiled, holding up her provisions.

"Thank you," he smiled, taking the offerings from her and moving toward the nearest pile of canvas and ropes where he took a seat. "Any chance there is coffee in here?" he asked wistfully, giving the flask a little shake, and Hermione laughed.

"I'm afraid not," Hermione said sympathetically as she sat down beside him. "You'll have to cope with rum."

"Rum?" Draco raised his eyebrows and grinned. "A little early, isn't it? Pirate," he teased.

"Well, the water is starting to taste a little funny," Hermione explained. "I keep putting a purifying charm on it whenever I can, but until we refresh our provisions at the next port, I would suggest Rum is going to be healthier than water for now."

Draco chuckled, and shook his head, before taking a swig.

"I miss good coffee," Draco sighed.

"Yeah," Hermione sighed, leaning back and looking wistfully ahead. "I miss many things – acceptable standards of personal hygiene for starters."

Draco snorted. "It's not that bad," he began to defend.

"Have you lost your sense of smell?" Hermione looked at him incredulously. "Seriously, you need to bathe."

"Oh, and you don't?" Draco teased her. "Let me remind you that we have the same personal routine – if I need to bathe then so do you."

Hermione rolled her eyes at his antagonism. "Honestly, of all the people to get stuck here with, I had to end up with you," She jokingly complained, and Draco laughed again.

"You say that, but I know you're secretly glad it's me," he teased. "There are far worse people you could have been saddled with."

Hermione gave a non-comital shrug, "I guess so. But come on, I'm sure there are other people you would much prefer to be stuck here with, over me."

Draco thought for a moment as he slowly chewed his bread. "Honestly? No," He admitted, much to Hermione's surprise. "We work well together; you have a logical mind, you're always focused, and you're the brightest witch of our generation. We need brains on this adventure, if we're going to ever get home. And you're not easily overwhelmed either, which is also useful considering what we've got ourselves into."

"I don't know about that last one - I was nearly overcome with panic when we first got here," Hermione reminded him.

"It was a massive shock to the system – and being stuck in a tiny cave with no apparent way out, is possibly the worst place to ever wake up," Draco countered. "You appear to be coping much better now. No, I stick by what I said – anyone else would have probably given up by now. Of course, I'm sure you would much prefer the company of Potty or the Weasel though," He added with a smirk.

Hermione glared at Draco, causing him to roll his eyes and sigh, "fine: Potter and Weasley."

Hermione thought for a moment, giving his assumption as much serious thought as he had appeared to give to hers.

"Actually, in all honesty, probably not," she admitted, leaning back into the canvas and staring ahead without seeing. "Don't get me wrong, they're my best friends and I love them, but they can be self-destructive nightmares at times. And this would have easily distracted them – if they were here they would have become pirates within days, thinking it a grand adventure, and I'd inevitably be dragged down with them in my attempts to save them," she mused with an indulging smile. "We'd probably never get back to our time, because we'd be too busy trying to just stay alive instead of trying to find a way home, then we'd die and be remembered in infamy."

"Not a bad way to be remembered," Draco shrugged, and Hermione laughed.

"No," Hermione admitted. "But I'd rather live and go home. So yes, I'm glad you're here – I have a much better chance of succeeding with you; like you said, we're a good team."

"You know, we might not get back either," Draco admitted after a few moments of thought. "Just because we're geniuses, doesn't mean we can do this."

"I know."

"We could be stuck here together; we could end up living out the rest of lives here. Are you so sure now that you wouldn't prefer to be in this, sailing off into the sunset, with your Weasley, instead of me?" There was something in Draco's voice that seemed to hint at something deeper in his meaning, but Hermione wasn't entirely sure what he was asking.

"He's not _my_ Weasley, not anymore," Hermione explained patiently, deciding to address the part of his question that she fully understood and setting the record straight.

Draco had known when their relationship had ended, but other than relaying that piece of information Hermione had never really spoken to him about her break-up.

"We split a couple of years ago; we're much better as friends. Towards the end all we did was argue, but not in the same way as we did when we were just friends. The love was starting to turn bitter, and if we stayed together much longer it would have turned to hate. It was hard at first," Hermione admitted. She could feel Draco watching her, but she kept her eyes cast down on her hands as she fiddled with her coat. "We couldn't even be in the same room for months, and then it took a year for us to able to talk to each other properly. We're back to our old selves now though – or at least, as much as we can be after everything. But no, to answer your question, I wouldn't prefer to be here with him." She looked up at Draco now, who was still watching her, listening carefully to her every word.

"No," Hermione reiterated. "I'm glad I'm here with you; I wouldn't want to be here with anyone else."

There was something in her voice which added a deeper meaning to her words. Hermione wasn't entirely sure what she was actually admitting to when she admitted this sentiment, all she knew was that it was a truth.

"Likewise," Draco said softly. His tone echoed hers, and so it seemed did his sentiments. Although, like Hermione, Draco wasn't quite sure what he was admitting to. The only thing that was certain to both of them, was that a line was seemingly about to be crossed in their relationship.

They looked at each other in silence for a moment, suddenly both very aware of their proximity. Of their own accord, Hermione's eyes flickered briefly down to Draco's lips, snapping back up in time to see that Draco had echoed her movements, and without realising what they were doing, Hermione and Draco leaned closer.

"There you are, Ana!" They were interrupted then, by Anderson, who stopped short when Hermione and Draco jumped apart. Anderson grinned a little when he realised that he may have just interrupted something he shouldn't have.

"Apologies, I didn't mean to interrupt you," he grinned.

"Don't know what you're talking about," Hermione said, jumping to her feet and trying to remain nonchalant. "What do you need?"

Anderson had come to rope her into assisting with swabbing the deck - one of the least glamorous jobs to be done, but necessary. There was a brief moment of awkwardness, and a lingering look, between Draco and Hermione before they went their separate way, both fully aware of what would have happened if they had not been interrupted. It was over in an instant, however, and they smiled in parting as Hermione moved aft, while Draco went below to catch up on sleep.

They were now sailing into Caribbean waters, which meant the days were longer, the weather warmer, and the experience much more enjoyable compared to those first few icy weeks at sea. The waters were relatively calmer for the most part, except when they came upon the odd unavoidable storm, but on calm days when the wind was with them, sailing was a breeze. On such days, it was not uncommon to spend hours at a time wandering serenely around the deck, our lounging about in easy conversation, playing at dice or cards, and slowly making their way through their supply of rum – a small canteen of which Hermione now kept at her waist along with the compass, a dagger, and a cutlass. The trading routes they were now sailing covered dangerous waters; pirates, struggling privateers, and down-on-their-luck merchants all traversed these ways too, and Captain Morgan liked to ensure his crew was ready to fight if the occasion called for it, and even when they made port they never let their guard down. So far, it had been relatively smooth sailing, but Hermione liked the feel of steel at her hip all the same, and it made the adventure that little more exciting.

By Henry's reckoning, they were almost at Nassau, for which Hermione was thankful. They had been at sea for a month now, and the entire crew were in desperate need of a good bath, herself included – there was only so much a bowl of water and cleaning charms could do to keep one clean. The afternoon before their expected arrival at port, Hermione was enjoying a respite on deck, lounging back in the sun and revelling in the sounds of sailing at sea that had become comforting to her now. Henry Morgan had been making his usual round of the deck, ensuring things were running smoothly, and he now stopped by Hermione. Pulling up an empty barrel, he joined her in her respite as he had done a few times before, and began an easy conversation.

"Only another night until we set foot land once more," he commented. "You must be relieved."

"My nose certainly is," Hermione smirked. "I'm sure everyone's sense of smell will get some relief when we finally bathe again. But other than that – I like the comforts of dry land like everyone does, but I really am enjoying being at sea, and I'm always eager to set sail again."

"Truly?" Henry asked, clearly surprised. "I mean, I know you're doing well on board, and appear to enjoy the life. But I would have expected you to infinitely prefer the comforts accessible to one of your status. I thought you would ultimately pick land over sea, any day."

"What can I say? I am just full of surprises," Hermione laughed. She took the flask from her belt and took a sip of the rum, before offering it to her captain. Henry took the flask with a smile of thanks.

"That you are," Henry agreed, before taking a swig and handing the rum back.

"Besides, there are still things for me to learn. Apparently, Alaric has been taking lessons at the helm, during his night shifts," Hermione mentioned.

"And is he not sharing his knowledge with you?" Henry mocked. "He seems to share everything else."

Hermione laughed. "He likes to keep some things close to the chest, gives him that superiority," she joked.

"Steering a ship is simple, if you know how," Henry said. "The sails do most of the work, the helmsman is just there to keep her on course. Come on," Henry said suddenly, getting to his feet and holding a hand out to help Hermione to hers.

"Where are we going?" she asked, allowing Henry to pull her up.

"To the helm. You've learnt everything else quick enough, you may as well give this a go too," Henry informed her. "And I'm starting to know you well - you'll end up getting someone to show you how eventually, you may as well get taught by the best."

Hermione followed willingly, laughing at Henry's downplayed arrogance, unaware they were being carefully watched, and had been for some time. Draco had drawn lookout duty this afternoon, he had been up in the crow's nest for a few hours now, and was to remain there until sunset.

He liked it up here, it was quiet and peaceful, and even though he was supposed to be keeping an eye on the horizon for the appearance of ships or land, every now and then he liked to let his eyes wander down over crew to watch them going about their daily routines. He had looked down again five minutes ago, and his sweeping gaze had alighted on Hermione where she was lounging nonchalantly among a pile of canvas and ropes. Henry was sat opposite her, perched on a barrel, and the pair appeared to be in easy conversation, laughing and drinking, until Henry suddenly stood and helped Hermione to her feet.

Draco watched them move toward the back of the ship, and up to the helm, where Henry relieved Shaw from his duties. Shaw moved off to the side, to lean against the side as he watched Hermione and Henry, almost as intently as Draco was.

Henry beckoned for Hermione to move in front of him, to place herself firmly at the wheel. Henry sidestepped away only slightly; he was half a step behind Hermione's shoulder, with one hand on the wheel. He must have told Hermione to take a hold of the wheel likewise, for a second later she tentatively wrapped a hand around a handle, her pose a now a mirror of Henry's. Draco watched as Henry pulled out his compass and held it open in front of them, so that Hermione could see it clearly, all the while talking – though what he was saying could not be heard all the way up in the crow's nest.

Henry transferred the compass into Hermione's free hand so that he could point to it, before pointing out to sea a little towards their right. All the while, Hermione listened intently, her gaze shifting from his face to follow where he pointed, before returning her gaze back to Henry. Henry moved the wheel slightly, all the while explaining things to Hermione, as she nodded along. He must have asked her a question then, for she looked to be in careful contemplation for a moment, before responding. Henry smiled slightly, and nodded, which resulted in Hermione grinning – whatever she had responded must have been the right answer.

Henry barked out a command, and two men sprang into action to adjust the mainmast as Draco turned away from the scenes below to gaze thoughtfully back out to sea. Once again, it appeared he was experiencing the slight pangs of jealously; from his vantage point, Henry and Hermione had looked incredibly close and comfortable at the helm, creating somewhat of a romantic tableau. Draco had thought that he and Hermione had been toying with the boundaries of their professional relationship and tentative friendship; being here, in their current situation, had changed their dynamic somewhat, and there was a tension there that had never been explored before. Or at least, he had thought so – maybe Alara had been mistaken in her parting whispered words, and he was just reading into something that wasn't there. One thing he was certain of though, was that Henry was becoming partial to Hermione's company more and more. And from what he had seen, it appeared Hermione did not seem to object.

Down at the helm, Henry was trying to get Hermione to think less and feel more:

"Feel the difference?" Henry asked, and Hermione chewed her lip. She wanted to say yes, but she really didn't feel anything different at all. Henry laughed – apparently her slight confusion was plainly visible on her face.

"Close your eyes," Henry suggested.

"What will that accomplish?" Hermione asked sceptically. "Don't I need to see what's happening and where we're going?"

"No, you need to feel it," Henry countered. "Trust me. Take the wheel, and close your eyes. Forget everything else for now – one thing at a time."

Hermione did as she was bid, taking a deep, calming breath as she accustomed herself to sailing blind, and listened to Henry's instructions.

"Feel the deck beneath your feet – don't tense up, relax into the movements. Feel the ships movements, feel every lull as we push through the currents and the drifts. Feel it move with the tug of the wind in the sails." His voice softened, until he trailed off and Hermione lost herself in the movement of the ship, feeling every rock and every roll.

She felt Henry move the wheel to the left and for the first time she felt the ship's subtle response. She smiled as she opened her eyes to see Henry smiling down at her.

"Feel that?" he asked, though he already knew the answer, and Hermione nodded.

Hermione remained at the helm for a while longer, under Henry's instruction, learning how to read the ships movements, and the subtle intricacies of the relationship between rudder, masts, and sails that was in continuous motion to utilise the wind and keep the vessel on track.

Come sunset there were other things to be done; Henry retired to his cabin with some others to go organise the necessary papers that would be needed tomorrow when they made port, and Hermione reluctantly left the helm. She had spotted Draco coming down from the crow's nest not long ago, and she moved toward the bow where Draco was now leaning against the side looking out into the gathering darkness.

"How was the sunset from up on high?" Hermione called out in greeting, as she came to stand beside him and lean into a mirroring pose.

"Same as usual I suppose." He looked at her and couldn't help but smile a little at the contentment radiating from her, despite his own lingering annoyance.

"We should be coming into Nassau early tomorrow," Hermione commented. She gave a wistful sigh of expectation. "A proper bed, and a bath. And fresh – well, fresh _er_ food. I'm looking forward to that. Oh, and ale," she grinned as an afterthought.

Draco couldn't help but laugh at her happy longing.

"Since when were you an ale drinker?"

"Since we found ourselves in the 1600's and Corona was no longer available to me," Hermione joked, which made Draco laugh even more.

"I always had you pegged for a cocktail kind of girl – I don't think I've seen you knock back a beer in my life," he teased.

"That's because you only ever drink with me at a bar, where I will always indulge in a French Martini," Hermione agreed. "But at home, after a long day, I'm too lazy to make them myself, so I settle for the bottle of corona."

Draco laughed again, and the pair fell into a comfortable silence. Hermione gazed out into the darkness, watching the light from the lanterns flickering over the wake created as their vessel plunged through the water. A small serene smile, that had been a constant presence for weeks now, played on her lips, and she was completely unaware that Draco was watching her thoughtfully.

"You're really enjoying yourself here, aren't you?" he asked eventually.

Hermione turned to look at him, still smiling. "Aren't you?"

"For the most part," Draco admitted. "Not as much as you, I don't think. I'm still determined to find a way back," he added quietly.

"So am I," Hermione said carefully, suddenly frowning, confused at the chill creeping into his tone.

"Are you, really?" Draco turned to face her squarely.

"Of course," Hermione started, but Draco interrupted.

"Because you seem much happier now; less concerned with getting back. You haven't obsessed about the time-turner in weeks now."

"Because there is nothing more we can do with it now, not until we meet Harriet. But yes, I am happier – well, more content, anyway," Hermione admitted. Draco nodded at the confirmation, clenching his jaw as he turned back to look out to sea.

"I'm getting used to being here," Hermione explained. "But that doesn't mean I don't want to go home. It's just that – well, like you said: there is always going to be that possibility that we may not be able to get back."

Hermione sighed and turned from the rail to lean back against it. She looked out across the deck, her eyes scanning the crew and resting a little longer on those who she had become closest to during the voyage, including Anderson, Shaw, and Captain Morgan. Draco twisted around to watch her closely, his own eyes narrowing and he followed her lingering gaze.

"If we don't make it back," Hermione continued with a smile. "Well, there are far worse places to live out your life, than here, I think."

"If you're so happy to stay, why bother trying to leave at all?" Draco asked coolly, looking away from her once more, a hint of bitterness creeping into his tone. "You can be Morgan's right-hand woman – he'd be more than happy to accommodate you, I'm sure."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Hermione frowned, turning to look at him, confused at the sudden chilliness in his voice.

"Nothing at all," Draco said with a tone of false airiness that told Hermione he meant plenty, he just wasn't going to be explicit.

"You two have grown pretty close, that's all: He's been putting in a lot of time and effort with you lately," Draco mused suggestively.

"With you as well," Hermione reminded him calmly, refusing to take the bait. "He's taken the time to teach us both – charting, navigating, fighting,"

"I'm not the one he's getting cosy with at the helm though. Under the pretence of a steering lesson, I'm sure," Draco said bluntly, still refusing to look at Hermione. "It's one thing for him to be showing partiality, but you probably shouldn't be openly returning the interest considering you're supposed to be betrothed to me, remember?"

"Are you jealous?" Hermione teased with a laugh, not really believing it to be so, but trying to lighten the conversation a little. "Is that what this is?"

"Don't be ridiculous," Draco snapped, finally glancing at Hermione with a scathing look. "I'm just reminding you that we have had to engage in this bloody cover story about why we're travelling alone together, the least you can do is stand by the charade."

"I am standing by it," Hermione defended. "But we really only needed that story when we were travelling as part of the King's court, where rules of etiquette are strictly adhered to. For the most part. But we're in the Caribbean, we're merchant sailors now, I think we can relax on the story a little – no one really cares here," she smiled "We can just be ourselves."

"Ok then," Draco said emotionlessly, after a second of quiet thought. He pushed himself off from the side and turned to walk away, without giving Hermione a glance.

"Alaric!" Hermione called after him, confused about his sudden sullenness.

"I'm on deck for the night," he called back to her without stopping or turning around. "I'll see you in the morning."

Hermione watched him walk away with a frown, at a loss to know how their conversation soured so quickly, or for what possible reason. She sighed and made her way below deck in search of food; she wasn't going to figure out the inner workings of Draco's mind any time soon, and obsessing over it wasn't going to help. He was probably just tired, and in need of some land-based comforts – he'd be fine once they reached Nassau.

The first sight of land came just after dawn, and they sailed into Nassau port by mid-morning. The bustle of making port - and the unloading and trading of goods that came along with it – kept them busy for most of the day; it was late afternoon by the time they were done, and they finally set foot on dry land, and into a tavern.

It appeared Henry frequented this particular tavern regularly on his trading routes, for they were greeted warmly upon their entrance. Food and ale were rustled up quickly to feed them all, and rooms provided for those who wanted. As was their usual custom, Hermione arranged for a room that she would share with Draco, and requested a bath tub to be sent up to the room and filled. While she waited for her request to be fulfilled, she settled down at the table to eat and drink with the rest of the crew.

Despite the crew's exhaustion, their spirits always rallied their first evening on land; Hermione was seated close to Henry and Jon Anderson, as had become her custom, and was happily joining in the rather raucous, bawdy banter with animation and good grace. Draco was sat a little away from her, and while he joined in the conversation every now and then, he was a little more sombre than usual. Despite being seated away from him, Hermione's eyes were often drawn to him; since that first near kiss nearly a month ago there had been a palpable tension between them that had continued to grow. The nature of ship life meant they barely got any time alone, however, so any awkward conversations they might have had were easily avoided. Instead they continued on as normal, for the most part – there were the odd lingering looks every now and then, and innocent touches here and there that were held perhaps a little longer than necessary, but they both seemed to be doing their best to avoid these new emotions simmering below the surface.

Every now and then, when Hermione glanced in Draco's direction and he happened to be looking at her, her smile softened and his own discontent seemed to lift slightly. But as the ale flowed, and the banter became lewder, Draco's attention began to wander from the table and out over the rest of the tavern. Hermione followed his gaze, and her eyes rested on one of the wenches traversing the floor. She was fairly pretty, and was eyeing Draco with keen interest. Hermione's eyes flickered between Draco and the wench, watching them watch each other with stirrings of discontent. The woman must have felt Hemrione's gaze upon her, for soon after, their eyes met briefly; Hermine gave her a small, stiff, smile before hastily withdrawing her attention back to her comrades. She forced herself to remain solely focused on the men with whom she sat with, joining in the jests just as animatedly as before, but she couldn't stop herself from glancing over at Draco every now and then, who was now sat drinking with a self-satisfied smirk playing on his lips.

Before she could pay too much mind to the reasons for his smirk, Hermione was notified that the bath she had requested was ready for her in her room.

"If you'll excuse me gentlemen," she declared, rising from the table and swinging her pack over her shoulder. "It's time for me to truly re-enter civilisation. And I suggest you all find time to bathe likewise, if you're intending to have any luck with the ladies of this establishment – no offence but your collective stench is overwhelming," she joked.

"You don't exactly smell like a rose," young Thompson teased.

"Which is why I'm going to bathe! But by all means, remain as you are," Hermione goaded with a wicked grin. "And when I come back down, I'll have all the ladies to myself!" Her remark was met a boisterous cheer as she disappeared upstairs with casual wave of dismissal, leaving the men to consume the free-flowing ale. No doubt they would be even more intoxicated by the time she re-joined them.

The room that had been prepared for her was modest, but comfortable: a double bed took up most of the room, but a copper tub had been squeezed into the space at the foot of the bed, leaving just enough room for a slight person to traverse the boards between the two. She unpacked her limited belongs, laying fresh clothes out on the bed to change into after bathing, and leaving the dirty garments in a heap on the floor. She removed her wand, compass, and the time-turner remnants from her person and tucked them carefully into the red coat she would later wear, safely out of sight from the chamber maid who had just returned with a bucket of fresh water Hermione had requested for washing her hair that was full of salt after the long voyage, and the sea air had left it dry and coarse.

Hermione stepped behind the privacy screen that hid the tub from the doorway, discarded the rest of her clothes onto the pile of salt-stained garments, and stepped into the waiting hot water. Bathing in the seventeenth century was not a private affair, and while it had taken some getting used to at first, Hermione now leaned back in the water without hesitation, and let the chambermaid go about her business of rinsing the salt from Hermione's hair and conditioning it with a selection of oils at Hermione's instruction. When she was done with the hair, the chambermaid took up the pile of laundry and left Hermione to soak alone, only returning once more to bring back Hermione's freshly washed clothing, and hanging it in front of the fire to dry out.

By the time she returned to the main room below, refreshed and crisply dressed in her black breeches and red coat with her cutlass at her waist, nearly all the men were well into their cups. Her eyes found Draco immediately, and a sudden surge of jealousy rattled her without warning. He was apart from the rest of the group, one had grasping his tankard, the other resting around the waist of the tavern wench he'd been watching earlier who was now perched on his lap.

Hermione tried to quell the unpleasant sensations she was feeling as she walked purposefully towards Draco. She stood over him in silence, looking down at him where he sat with a small, cold, smile.

"May I help you?" he drawled, eventually looking up.

"I'm done with our room, for now," Hermione said simply, dangling the key in front of him. "The maid is preparing a bath for you. I suggest you use it, you stink."

"I'm a little busy right now."

"You're a little drunk right now," she countered, hearing his voice properly.

"Maybe," Draco conceded. "Doesn't make me any less busy."

"Could you excuse us for a moment?" Hermione said to the girl, without breaking eye-contact with Draco.

"But-" she started to protest with a coy smile.

"Please," Hermione stressed, sounding more threatening than polite. The girl disengaged herself when she saw Hermione's hand flutter over the hilt of her sword.

"That wasn't very friendly," Draco commented, taking a large drink.

"I think you were being friendly enough for the both of us,"

"What's the matter? Jealous?" Draco smirked.

"Are you trying to make a point here?" Hermione asked, starting to get the impression that Draco's current actions were a response to their confusing disagreement the evening before, and geting irate. "What are you doing?"

"Being myself," he said with a bitter smile, standing up to face Hermione square on, and confirming her suspicion. "That's what we're doing now right? Being ourselves? We're not worrying about the story now, because whatever Alara might have said, it really was just a story."

"Alara?" Hermione repeated. "What does she-? What do you mean, 'what she said'?"

"When we were saying goodbye," Draco rambled. "She told me – never mind, she was wrong anyway. Our story was a story, and we're not sticking to it anymore – I don't know why you're getting mad, you started it."

" _I_ started?" Hermione repeated incredulously. "This is about yesterday, isn't it? Is this you getting back at me, for your over-active imagination? I told you that was nothing! You know what," Hermione stopped in her defence when Draco scoffed. "I'm not having this conversation with you while you're in this state – you're not going to listen to a word I say, and I'm in no humour to give attention to your petulant games."

She slammed the key into his chest, and Draco grabbed it instinctively.

"Do everyone a favour: go bathe and sober up. I'll sleep on the ship tonight, you can bring my things with you back to the docks in the morning."

Hermione turned on her heels and walked out of the tavern and into the night, leaving Draco standing alone. He felt a sense of satisfaction at having wound her up – whatever she may have said, she had been jealous, Draco was sure of it, and this pleased him.

"I'm sorry," a voice said behind him. He turned to see the woman he had been entertaining, when Hermione had approached him, hovering close by. "I didn't mean to cause trouble between you and our lady.

"She's not my lady," Draco assured her, to which she raised her eyebrow. "We're nothing to each other."

She laughed in disbelief: "If you truly believe that, you are all kinds of stupid!"

Draco frowned at her, and she elaborated.

"I watch everyone in this room, it's what I do," she explained. "The way you look at her when she talks with others, you despise it when she shows animated attention to the other men. But you never notice the way she looks at you compared to how she looks at the others: they are her comrades, her brothers – the way she converses with them is familial. She does not look at you in that way. And when you give your attention to other women - she looks at you the same way you look at her when she talks to the other men."

Draco thought about what she said for a few moments, but when he didn't look like he was going to move anywhere anytime soon, the wench gave an exasperated sigh and goaded him into action.

"You should perhaps remedy the argument, sooner rather than later, before you ruin whatever it is that you have between you."

Draco sighed and nodded; she was right – though not for the reasons she was probably thinking. He needed to be on cordial speaking terms with Hermione, if they were going to work together effectively to find their way back. They couldn't afford to be divided in this adventure, the journey was too treacherous and fraught with potentially catastrophic dangers. He drained his glass and left the tavern, setting out down to the docks in pursuit of Hermione.

The evening was quiet and peaceful when Hermione made it to the dockside, away from the bustle of the taverns, but anger still bubbled through her. She should have known better really – she thought that she and Draco were starting to cross boundaries in their relationship, that they were becoming more than friends; she should have known his attraction to her was nothing more than the want of any alternative. As she made her way toward _the Oxford_ she passed a couple of drunken sailors who were being called into small row boat.

"Will you two get yourselves in here!" the man in the boat was shouting. "The captain is ready to sail, if we don't make it out of port before full sundown he'll flog you both to within an inch of your life!"

The drunken men in question became momentarily distracted from their chastisement as Hermione pushed through them.

"That's no way for a lady to dress," one of the commented.

"No," the other agreed. "But it's a way that suits. Dresses hide many things, nothing is hidden in that!"

"Do not try my patience today," Hermione called back harshly. Despite her warning, part of her hoped they provoked her further – she would dearly love an excuse to draw steel, and while she wasn't a great swordsman, these two seemed intoxicated enough to be easily taken.

"Oh don't be like that," one of them called, as the two of them caught up with her and went to take her waist.

That was all the provocation she need; Hermione drew her sword and pushed the men back.

"I said not today, men. Not today."

The sailors drew their own swords, and Hermione heard their sober companion complain "oh good lord," in the background. She lunged for the nearest one, whose defensive parry she easily knocked back, before twirling to meet his friends' blade before it came crashing down on her. As she had hoped, they were too intoxicated to fight with speed and precision, and so Hermione could twirl and move between them, keeping pace with ease. It was her first real sword fight, and she found it to be an excellent outlet for the anger she had been feeling. Her adversaries' companion was shouting something, but Hermione ignored him, too intent upon keeping her opponents' steel at bay. As well as her slashes and parries, she got in a couple of well-placed punches and kicks, sometimes leaving one of them winded long enough for her to kick-back the other, effectively keeping the duel one-on-one for brief periods. She was only distracted once, when she heard her own name being called out.

"Granger?" She recognised Draco's voice in the distance, calling out in alarm, and then heard his steps on the pier go from a walk to a run.

"Damn it, boys! Enough with this now! Get in the damn boat before more come running!"

"Ana!" Draco shouted again as he got closer, drawing his own sword intending to join the fray.

The shouting had distracted the fighters briefly, and Hermione took the opportunity to plant a heavy blow into the head of one of the men, sending him sprawling to the ground. The sober boatman, seeing that his companions would be no match for two opponents, took matters into his own hands. He sprang from the boat with an oar in hand, to come up behind Draco. Before Hermione could shout out a warning, he brought the paddle across the back of Draco's head with a resounding crack, the impact knocking him out could.

"Alaric!" Hermione shouted in concern, momentarily distracted from her fight. A moment was all it took: her adversary, taking inspiration from his comrade, brought the hilt of his sword down hard on the back of her head, and Hermione's world went black.

* * *

 _ **A/N: Thanks for reading guys. Let me know what you thought. I'll have the next chapter up as soon as possible - it might not be as long as this one, so it hopefully shouldn't take as long to write**_

 _ **xBx**_


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